


Steady hands (ragged breathing)

by loosingletters



Series: Never let your fear decide your fate [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Court of Owls, Gen, Gotham City - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapping, Low budget Batman kicks ass, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Street kid Bruce Wayne, Unreliable Narrator, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, Young Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters/pseuds/loosingletters
Summary: Bruce was just another orphaned kid growing up on the streets the Narrows. Unlike the rest of them though, he planned to do something about this city. In which Bruce Kane is the bastard son of Thomas Wayne, grows up in the worst possible part of Gotham and still manages to acquire a colony of bat(kid)s.





	1. Bruce Kane

**Author's Note:**

> So, this got inspired by me imagining what Batman would be like without all the high-tech. Then I started thinking about what Batman and Bruce Wayne would be like had he grown up in poverty in the worst part of Gotham and it all just spiraled out of control from there.  
> I'm pretty new to DC and comics and everything that doesn't fit canon will be judged according to "this is fanfiction" and a wise person telling me "tbh we ignore 95% of canon anyway" so there's that.  
> This story is dedicated to my best friend because she let me ramble about this.  
> Have fun!

Bruce Kane grew up in a tiny apartment he shared with his mother. He went to school from Monday to Friday and cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner on his weekends when his mother worked. His mother was pretty much always working, or so it seemed to Bruce, especially since she was always taking the hospital's night shifts, weekend shifts and holiday shifts, as those earned the most money. Bruce didn't mind too much though, he knew his mom was trying her best and he knew she loved him. No matter how late she returned, she always prepared a lunch box for him to take to school and gave him a goodbye kiss.

She was never too tired to listen to him talk about his day or answer his many questions about what kinds of people his mother had helped today.

His mother was a vibrant light in the darkness of this city. Walking with her through the twilight alleys never seemed as dangerous together compared to when he had to walk them home alone.

They had run into a lot of trouble in the past years - but who in Gotham's north hadn't, really? - yet Bruce felt always more protected with her around. He never had to deal with anything worse than a black eye, a push or a shove with his mother right next to him.

On his own, rushing through the streets on his way back home from school, he had already ended up with worse injuries. But even those he could deal with when his mother carefully wrapped them in bandages, telling him " _andrà tutto bene, tesoro_ " - everything will be alright.

There were many things to be afraid of in this neighborhood: criminals with no moral backbone whatsoever, sickness and death, the bats that had made their home in the chimney and screamed at night, but as long as his mother was there, Bruce was sure that the sun would rise the next day.

\---

"Bruce, can you fetch me the bandages, per favore? And the alcohol beneath the sink?"

Bruce ran criss-cross through the apartment, gathering everything his mother asked for and leaving it on the kitchen table. Since it was pretty well known that his mother was a nurse, injured people often dropped by. Some of them only once, others more often and a few came by regularly just to chat.

"Grazie mille, tesoro."

Of all the people that came by, Bruce liked Marie the best. She wasn't as old as his mom, but not super young either. Really, her age seemed to depend on what kind of make-up she was wearing. But Marie was always willing to talk to him about Gray Ghost and hug him and smile even when Bruce didn't feel all that happy.

\---

They didn't have many possessions, just as much as they needed to get by. Sometimes his mother would indulge him and buy him a new toy, or one of the expensive shampoos that smelled like flowers and spring and nothing like the Narrows.

They'd take long baths together then and afterward dress in their most formal and cleanest clothes and pretend to be attending high society dinner parties. His mother would polish her pearl necklace until it shone brightly even with the lights turned off and only candlelight illuminating the room.

The pearls were a precious family heirloom, or so she had told Bruce. Its actual origin was unknown to Bruce, his mother came up with a different tale every time - from pirates to Roman royalty to mermaids - and made Bruce deduce the ending of each story.

It was fun, Bruce loved solving puzzles. He always snatched up the entertainment pages from gossip magazines and newspapers, dutifully filling out crossword puzzles and sudokus.

\---

Bruce was reading on the sofa when his mother covered his eyes from behind.

"Mamma!" He complained. "I'm reading!"

She laughed, bright and happy like a summer's day.

"Of course, of course. I won't disturb you long. But, tesoro, three guesses what happened today?"

She was extraordinarily happy, so something unusual and positive must have happened. It was also already four p.m., so despite having an early shift, she had come home late.

"Something at the hospital?" Bruce asked.

His mother's hand on his eyes vanished and Bruce put his book aside to look at his mother properly. She was still smiling and had one hand behind her back, hiding the object from Bruce's view.

"My smart boy, already such a great detective. As you guessed correctly, something great happened at the hospital. I got a pay raise! And to celebrate..." His mother moved her arm from behind her back to her front. She was holding two shiny red tickets with a brand Bruce would recognize everywhere. "I bought us tickets for the Zorro movie you wanted to see."

Bruce's eyes lit up. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the no-feet-on-the-sofa rule to jump in his mother's arms.

"When, when, when, when!?"

"Tonight, movie premiere."

\---

Bruce wouldn't remember it after this night, but he had left the cinema laughing, feeling happier than he had in months. It had been so late and dark, yet his mother hadn't warned him to keep quiet since she loved his joy far too much.

\---

Everything happened in painful slow motion. The man was shouting at his mother. Ugly, harsh words not unlike those of their neighbor's in his drunken madness. His mother hadn't returned in kind. She was a soft-spoken woman, warm and safe and always concerned with keeping the peace. Her gentle words didn't prevent the man from reaching for her necklace though and, when she refused, from harshly tugging at it.

Bruce pulled his switchblade from his pocket when the necklace broke apart and like a thousand tiny raindrops the pearls dropped to the ground together with his knife.

His mother cried out pained and inhuman before Bruce had even registered the shot that reverberated through the night. Something warm splattered on his face, but the night was cold and clear. It was the first dry night this autumn as well, it hadn't rained all day.

The man cursed and ran away and his mother wasn't standing anymore. Blood poured from a wound on her chest, deep dark crimson seeping into her clothes. She coughed, choked with a sickly wet sound.

Bruce dropped to his knees, pressing his hands against his mother's wound but the blood would not stop flowing. It welled up between his fingers, drowning them in the hot liquid.

"Please, mamma, please don't leave, please don't leave me."

His mother didn't move an inch. She just lied there on the ground while her pearls were rolling over the floor and Bruce's hands, shirt and pants were stained in her blood. He didn't know how long he was sitting there on the ground, his hands holding onto his mother's body, hoping to keep the life inside. Everything around him seemed so much louder than usual. The noise of the cars driving past him and his mother, not stopping for second class citizens like them. His mother was still warm when somebody came for him.

"Oh, hell," they hissed, but they could have been screaming as well.

Bruce turned his head. His sight was blurry, he tasted salt on his tongue. "Please, you have to help my mamma."

The stranger came closer and put something around Bruce's shoulder while they moved their hands to cover Bruce's eyes.

"It's alright, kid. Everything's going to be fine," the stranger, a man, said.

Bruce tried to push the man's hands away. The man didn't understand! Why was he bothering with Bruce, he needed to help his mother!

"You have to help mamma," Bruce repeated, his voice hoarse. "Please, you have to help my mamma."

\---

There are only three police officers that followed the detective's call. None of them cared, they scoffed, shrugged and continued on like his mother was nothing. They didn't even try to help her, so apathetic to her (still, cold, dead) body. They didn't take any notice of Bruce sitting in the corner, just a few steps away from his mother with the detective's heavy jacket on his shoulders. They didn't talk to him and didn't pay any attention to Bruce's shaking hands. He felt sick, like throwing up and wanted to be home in his bed in his mamma's arms. Anywhere but here staring into those dull brown eyes.

"Bruce, is that you- _Oh, god_."

Marie was familiar, Marie was safe. She pulled him close, smearing red all over her sparkling dress.

The police officers still didn't care and so Marie pushed him away, further and further from his mother, her pearls and all the crimson ground.

\---

Bruce's hands wouldn't stop shaking, no matter what he did.

Marie had taken him home and tugged him in his bed, but she'd done it all wrong, and he couldn't close his eyes without those images flashing up. He couldn't sleep without waking up screaming and emptying his stomach on the wooden floor.

After three days or so, others dropped by. Bruce didn't talk to them, he didn't want to listen to their words and promises.

He still couldn't keep his food down.

Nothing was going to be alright.

\---

A man pushed through the door, loud and violent, spending ages screaming at Marie while she begged for a few more days. He left soon after, but Marie's black eye stayed.

"Please, Bruce."

She was kneeling right next to his bed where he and his mother used to pray.

"You have to pick yourself up again."

Bruce had wondered what Marie thought was going to happen now. She had to go back to work and she couldn't keep offering him words of comfort and reassurance when they didn't fix anything at all.

"Martha is dead, and you will be if you don't go with the pace of this place."

She pressed something small and cold in his hands and for a moment Bruce thought those were the tiny marbles he kept in a box under his bed. He opened his hand and stared down at his mother's pearls. They looked dirty, shone with a red hue, but Bruce could tell they were those white stars that used to lie around his mother's neck.

"They're all we could find in the cracks. Obviously, it's not all of them, but they still belong to you."

Bruce closed his hand around the eight pearls lying innocently in his palm. It was Friday.

"I haven't been in school all week."

His throat hurt. He hadn't said a single word in the past days.

Marie sobbed, and a laugh interrupted by all her tears escaped her as she put her hands around Bruce's. "It'll be alright."

The Narrows were no place to mourn for long, you had to move on.

And so Bruce did.

( _If sometimes he still thought his hands were red, then it did not matter._ )

\---

Marie went back to working and Bruce was alone in the now too big apartment. It used to be so small for his mother and him. Now it seemed much too big.

His mother's brilliant white pearls were still tainted by the red of her blood, no matter how often Bruce polished them. The handful Marie had managed to pick up for him didn't shine like they used to and they weren't worth as much anymore. Not that anyone ever would buy those from a child and offer the proper amount of money for them.

Bruce thought he should sell them either way, he needed the money. His mother had paid the rent for the month just the morning before she passed. That gave him another twenty-five, maybe twenty-eight days before he'd be thrown out of the apartment unless he found a way to pay for it.

He should sell the pearls.

Instead, Bruce let Marie's small hands thread a string through each of the eight pearls and tie that string shut with a knot. His treasure burnt warm on his skin, but Bruce didn't pull them out from beneath his shirt.

His mother died because she showed the world her most precious possession. Bruce wouldn't make the same mistakes.

\---

Bruce went to school come Monday, without his lunch and his mother's goodbye kiss, and earned himself a week of detention for missing class. He didn't mind too much. School beat being home alone sitting in a cold apartment. His mother had always told him that school and education were essential if he wanted to become someone important someday. Privately, Bruce had always thought that he'd be fine if he could be an average citizen, fitting into a statistic with 1.8 children.

For even that, though, he had to study and get a degree.

School, however, Bruce learned, was expensive. It asked him for money for the upcoming trip to a zoo and the storybooks they had to order, both of which were little to no use to Bruce. What purpose did going to a zoo have for him? If he wanted to look at animals, he could go to the pet shop. They wouldn't even ask him for any money for looking at the animals.

Bruce's piggy bank, the Kane's entire savings account, had enough money for one more week of three meals a day. If he reduced it to breakfast and dinner, he could possibly last a week more. School would cut down that budget alarmingly. Marie didn't have any money she could spare him, and pickpocketing could only get him so far.

Bruce didn't return to school on Tuesday, or the following days. Nobody called home and no social service worker turned up on his door when Bruce was there and not running errands on the street.

The newspaper hadn't mentioned his mother's murder nor her son going missing. Just two more people disappearing in Gotham's fog and nobody gave a damn.

They should care though, Bruce thought while accepting a package. They should care that there was an eight-year-old running around delivering drugs, cash and guns so he could sleep indoors or eat.

\---

Marie helped him sell whatever still belonged to Bruce when he had to leave the apartment twenty-four days after his mother's death. He kept a small suitcase full of things, half of them being his mother's medical books. They were much more interesting than Bruce's school books if a bit harder to understand. A photo album and his mother's diary also found their way into the case, though Bruce didn't dare to open them.

Living out of a suitcase was easier than Bruce thought it would be, but also very impractical. He kept having to carry it with him, or hide it when he was out on the streets.

He missed home.

\---

Bruce saw the officer with the gentle hands patrol the Narrows during the daytime a couple times, for what purpose he didn't know. Just a bit of police presence wasn't going to fix anything here.

By the time Bruce had stopped going to school and was sleeping in the brothel most days and on the street on the others, the detective stopped patrolling.

Bruce wanted to hate him for abandoning the Narrows, but then again it wasn't like anyone else was doing something. He shouldn't blame the one man who at least had tried to go about this part of town differently.

\---

Selling drugs as a middle-man turned out to be a dangerous occupation that got you beat up multiple times. If the quality was inadequate, if there wasn't enough, if the packaging was damaged, if the delivery was late - Bruce got to feel all of it.

He was fairly sure two of his ribs were cracked. Bruce had gotten pretty good at assessing his own and others' injuries. Marie had plenty of acquaintances that didn't mind the opinion of a now nine-year-old with professional books instead of no information whatsoever.

Sometimes they even gave him a few dollars for it or some hand-me-downs. His birthday and spring had come and passed and with that so had his growth spurt forcing him to get some new clothes. He had found a pair of sneakers that wasn't too big and still had enough grip to catch him when he was running through the alleys making his deliveries.

He had a new client today, which meant a new route and a new good impression to make. He'd already picked up the package and had been relieved to know that it wasn't filled with guns this time. He'd been told to be careful, or else - nothing new really - and they only ever insisted that much on it when it truly was something fragile.

Bruce turned right and climbed up the fire escape to avoid a brawl on the ground. Most people, Bruce had noticed, didn't look up even half as often as they looked behind themselves. They never noticed him when he passed by them right over their heads. Heights didn't frighten him anymore if they ever did. Without a permanent roof over his head, Bruce found himself feeling at home on the rooftops of his city.

At the end of the alley, Bruce turned left, reaching the dead-end that was his destination.

A lot of cardboard boxes piled up around the backdoor of the building, most of them looking pretty new. They could be useful, Bruce would have to check if he could use them for the nights he spent outside. During the winter he'd been more or less tolerated inside the brothel as long as he made himself useful cleaning up and stitching wounds, but he knew that wouldn't hold for much longer.

Bruce took the package out of his backpack and knocked against the gray door in front of him. It took a few seconds, but soon a stressed looking man opened the door.

"I've got your package-"

"Yes, yes!" The man interrupted Bruce. "Don't linger here, boy. Get inside."

He pushed Bruce inside, opening another door to a storage room. "You're going to have to wait for the payment, I'm a bit busy at the moment."

The man pushed his glasses up and continued walking inside. Bruce was unsure whether he should follow him. On the one hand, the man hadn't told him so and following strangers usually didn't turn out all that great for him. On the other side, Bruce couldn't leave without the money. There was no guarantee he would get it then and returning empty-handed to his employers was everything but a good idea. He weighed his odds and, feeling like he was about to make a mistake, followed the man out through the storage room into the building.

The first thing Bruce noticed was how clean everything was. They passed a room full of animals when it finally clicked for Bruce. This was a veterinary practice. They entered the waiting room, where Bruce was told to sit and not cause any trouble. He felt a bit out of place in-between all the injured adults and the very few injured animals.

Alright, Bruce had to correct his earlier assessment. This was a veterinary practice as a front for a real clinic. The man, the doctor and owner of this place, called up one mobster after another, though the clinic didn't seem to get any emptier.

Bruce turned to look at a newcomer. He had another man help him make it through the door, bleeding heavily through his pants. A stab wound most likely.

"Doc!" The second grunt shouted. "Get your ass here!"

The doctor turned up only briefly, barely glancing at the man before telling him to sit down and shut up. "It's not life-threatening, he can wait like everyone else."

The thug apparently wasn't very impressed with that. He snarled and pulled a gun out of his waistband. Bruce felt himself freeze up. He had carried guns before, had seen countless people with them in the past months, yet he couldn't move at all. It felt like he was trapped in his body, unable to move and interfere _before his mother-_

"If you want to show your faces here ever again, don't pull a gun on me."

The doctor didn't look all that impressed. He didn't even stay to watch what the men would do, he just turned on his heel and walked back into the treatment room he had come from.

"Fuck!" One of the men cursed but dropped his gun.

Bruce couldn't look away. He didn't understand why the man hadn't just taken the shot. It would have been easy enough, he couldn't have missed from that distance with a clear line of fire.

"What are you looking at, brat?"

The gangster glared at Bruce, his fingers twitching around his gun. "You think this is fun? Want me to teach you a lesson you piece of shit?"

He lunged forward and Bruce couldn't step back. The man pulled him up by his collar and the rough fabric pressed into Bruce's neck.

"You think this is-"

"I can fix him," Bruce croaked.

The man's pissed look intensified before switching with one of total confusion. "You can do what now?"

Bruce raised his hand to point at the injured man they had brought in. "Fix him," he repeated.

The gangster let go of him, crossing his arms over his chest. Bruce rubbed his throat but didn't avoid the man's stare.

"It's just a stab wound. I can fix him."

\---

Bruce had sewn wounds shut before, smaller ones with needles and thread from a sewing package they had lying around to fix clothes with. The man's injury was larger than those he had treated before, and he was losing more blood than Bruce had thought at first glance.

"Now get to work, boy," the man hissed.

It was too late to back out now.

Bruce borrowed needle and threat from the doctor's storage room with his heart beating twice as fast as usual and his blood rushing through his ears. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't stop them. He couldn't sew if his hands would only tear more skin open, he needed to calm down. His mother's pearls burned warm on his skin. He pulled them out from below his shirt and rubbed over the smooth surface.

It would be just like he had practiced ( _he'd never done this before_ ), just like his mother's books ( _there was too much blood_ ). He could do this.

\---

It must have been hours when the doctor finally took a break and gave Bruce the money for the package.

"I didn't deduce the costs for the needle and the thread. Since they were mine though, you also don't get to keep the money the men gave you."

He held out his hand and Bruce silently handed over the bills over that had been pressed into his bloody hand. Why was it that they were always red?

"How often have you treated wounds like that before?"

Bruce didn't look up from his hands.

"That was the first time."

The doctor hummed. "You've got steady hands. Come back tomorrow. 5 a.m., don't be late."

\---

He returned the next day with a blue eye his previous employer had given him for being late. The doctor - Martin Crane - didn't care beyond one raised brow. Patients came in soon after Bruce and Crane started explaining what kind of injuries he was treating and how he did it and why exactly this way right when leaning over a patient. After the third reset shoulder, he expected Bruce to be able to copy him and added that injury to Bruce's list. At the end of the day, Bruce had a full stomach - lunch and dinner had been provided for him - and a list of injuries Doctor Crane didn't want to treat anymore and expected Bruce to handle instead of him.

Surprisingly, people didn't really object to him taking care of them. They looked skeptical, sure, but Doctor Crane had a reputation, Bruce figured. His house, his rules. And if he said the scrawny, malnourished child will sew your wound shut, Bruce would sew that wound shut.

He got to keep a fourth of what he earned. It was less than his deliveries won him, but it was a steady and somewhat risk-free income. Additionally, he didn't even have to spend so much money on food anymore. A few times a week Crane ordered him to pick up food for the two of them and Bruce didn't even have to pay for it. It wasn't enough to get him through the week, but it certainly did help.

Winter had long since made Bruce accustomed to hunger, that hollow feeling in his stomach, the light-headedness and the weakness in his limbs. This was an improvement, one Bruce would work hard to keep for as long as he could.

\---

He had thought about going to the police or CPS after the first night he had slept outside and froze so terribly that his fingers wouldn't even warm up when Marie smuggled a cup of hot tea out to him.

Bruce had wondered then if it could really be so terrible. When he had voiced such thoughts to one of the other kids doing runs for the Family he was working for, the older girl had just started to laugh.

"They'll stick you in jail if you're lucky."

"And if I'm not?" Bruce asked.

"Then you might as well stay here. The devil you know and all that. Don't fool yourself into thinking you're going to matter when they know about you. You'll be just another problem they'll have to fix and they will hate you for it."

She shrugged. "Do the math yourself."

Bruce found some more blankets for himself and yearned for summer.

\---

"You stink, boy. And you're dirty. You can't treat patients when you look even worse than them. What happened to basic hygiene?"

A pissed off pimp and the streets, Bruce didn't reply.

He'd been thrown out of the brothel permanently a few days ago since he didn't earn his keep anymore. Being away for most hours of the day and only returning to sleep automatically disqualified you for cleaning up behind people, who would have thought.

And since Bruce had been a nuisance since day one and now refused to give up the money he had earned, it had only been a question of time either way. He should have considered himself to be lucky for having a place to sleep at for so long in the first place.

Doctor Crane sighed and pointed Bruce towards the staircase leading up to his apartment. "Go shower. You can sleep in treatment room 3."

Bruce nodded dutifully and hushed up the stairs.

\---

Bruce didn't have friends. He had a boss, acquaintances, a sibling figure like Marie and other ambiguous people such as Selina Kyle with whom he sometimes shared a meal with, but he certainly didn't have friends. Selina was a strange girl, and Bruce couldn't quite pin down her character although she was the same age as him. One day she'd be cheerful, telling him about all the cash she stole from unassuming passersby and on other's she'd be silent or downright nasty, insulting him and calling him names.

Teenagers, Bruce had learned, were good at hurting each other with words alone.

"You're pathetic, Bruce, ‘cause you still think you can get out of here someday. You don't go to school, you work for a creep, and in ten years you'll still be here sleeping in your boss's office."

Bruce ignored the bite in her words in favor of continuing their conversation. Sometimes, that was the only way to make sure that Selina returned once a week for a proper meal. They weren't friends, but Bruce wouldn't let Selina starve just because they didn't get along flawlessly. Besides, it was nice to have someone to talk to he could relate to.

"But I've almost got enough money saved up to rent a domicile." He highlighted the stresses on his last words like the posh rich in the Diamond district did, teasing a smile out of Selina. "Besides, where will you be in ten years?"

"Paris," Selina replied immediately. "Eating breakfast in front of the Eiffel Tower, just you wait."

\---

He kissed Selina only once and as far as kisses went, this wasn't too bad he assumed.

"And?" She asked, arms crossed and staring at him like she was just waiting for Bruce to say something wrong.

"That was alright? I guess?"

Selina sighed and sat back down on the railing of the fire escape. "That's it? Are you gay or something?"

Bruce shrugged. "Maybe. It was nice, but I think I could live my life without kissing anyone ever again. It's messy, and I think I'd rather just share a pizza with somebody."

He wasn't sure which part of his statement Selina found to be hilarious enough to break out in one of her rare laughing fits, but he supposed that this was better than being scrutinized by her keen eyes.

There were worse ways to spend your sixteenth birthday.

\---

There were always people with injuries, so there were always patients to treat, but the amount varied depending on who was in control of the city at the moment. During the times of great disruptions, income was amazing.

Right now, however, not so much. The Penguin was enlarging his territory and had driven many gang members into hiding. Protection money had been upped again as well to a quite offensive sum. Bruce didn't even have to think hard about how many shops wouldn't be able to make that cut. Business was going poor and as usual nobody who actually deserved it had to feel the repercussions.

It made Bruce so, so angry. He had found a place to stay, one to call his own, just a few days ago and he had almost enough money together to rent it permanently. He was finally old enough that somebody would accept money from him. Bruce wasn't stupid, he had saved up over the years just for this, and he was so close to getting what he wanted for once.

Marie was pissed when he showed up asking for help. They hadn't talked much in the past months due to their schedules mostly. She was usually sleeping when he worked and vice versa, never mind that her boss didn't like it when Bruce came around without offering something. This time though Bruce was much too frustrated and angry to turn around and leave. He had plenty to offer for the right price.

People paid well for conventions they had invented for no purpose and Bruce wasn't above exploiting that.

Besides, he got an apartment out of it and the knowledge that sex also wasn't really his thing either. Every moment could be a learning opportunity, you just had to look at it from the right angle.

\---

Bruce hadn't lived with Doctor Crane, yet he hadn't been precisely homeless either. The clinic had been his shelter and Crane's shower had been included in that space unlike the rest of the apartment. Everything else that was Crane's living space was absolutely off-limits, and Bruce hadn't been out to test those boundaries. As long as he didn't have to sleep on the streets, he was doing better than other people. Having to clear out your room every day for patients wasn't too bad.

He'd asked Crane only once why the Doctor cared and had been brushed off with a "I have a nephew your age."

It hadn't been an explanation, but enough of a reason to account for something. What exactly that was Bruce didn't know.

What he did know, however, was that he wasn't sad to leave the clinic behind in favor of his own apartment, room, living space. It wasn't much, only two rooms with one of them being a tiny bathroom, but it was _his_.

That was more than he had owned before.

Selina made fun of him for sleeping without a mattress but having enough books to build a sofa out of them.

"Is this what you spent all your money on?" She asked while skimming through his new law book.

"Yes. I found most of them in the trash and bought the necessary or interesting ones second-hand."

Half of Bruce's earnings were probably going into his stack of books. Education was important, no matter how informal. He didn't need a teacher to tell him to read the Odyssey, he could do that on his own just fine.

"Necessary ones?"

Bruce rolled his eyes and moved his head out of the trajectory of the book Selina had just thrown at him.

"Yeah, necessary ones, like school books. Math, English, science."

Selina's expression was unreadable.

\---

The money he had earned from the trip to the brothel was enough to get his apartment as well as a used laptop Bruce was unconditionally in love with it, even if it was a little slow. The first thing he did with it was signing himself up for some online classes to get a high school diploma, while also picking up some college courses.

Bruce also picked up two phones. Nothing fancy, just something you could call and text with. One he kept for himself and the other one was for Selina.

She hadn't been only an acquaintance in a long time and had swiftly moved into the friend territory. On top of that, Selina was his only, and therefore also best friend, and Bruce didn't like her dropping off the map for three weeks without stopping by only to turn up on his doorstep at three in the morning bruised and bleeding with a kitten of all things sleeping in her backpack.

Selina carefully picked the cat up and sat it down on the ground, where it immediately began to explore the small space. Selina watched it climb over smaller and bigger stacks of books like a hawk, completely ignoring Bruce's presence. Only when the kitten had made it safely to Bruce's bed - a real one nowadays with a frame and mattress, pillows and blankets - Selina turned away from it.

"Where have you been?"

"Around," Selina replied.

\---

Selina stayed the night and the next and the one after. Bruce hid his money all over the apartment, never all of it in one place and within weeks the stashes started growing. Selina bought groceries and came home with additional pillows and blankets. She sat on their bed in the evening with Bruce's old school books surrounding her and a cup of tea in her hands.

Bruce resigned himself to the fact that he now shared his apartment when he found himself buying cat food for Selina's cat Spade.

Selina paid half the rent and it irked him that he didn't know how she got that money. Pick-pocketing could only earn her so much and Selina certainly didn't go out every day. Sometimes she wouldn't leave the apartment for days at a time.

She was hiding from something, someone most likely, and she wasn't talking. Of course, Selina was entitled to keep her secrets, Bruce certainly wasn't sharing everything with her either, but if he was getting himself into danger by living with her, he'd prefer to know.

\---

Bruce was a pretty light sleeper who could sleep any moment he wanted. He was usually exhausted enough to drop dead the moment his body hit the mattress. Unfortunately, that exhaustion didn't translate to him sleeping through the night.

He was awake the moment he felt Selina get up from the bed. He stayed still, pretending to be asleep when he heard her get dressed and leave the apartment. He waited another minute before standing up himself. It was time he finally checked out what was hiding behind Selina's behavior.

He put on his jeans, sneakers, a black hoodie, and a coat and was already halfway out of the door when he realized that maybe he should disguise himself a little better if he didn't want to be recognized. He returned to the apartment, trying to find something to hide his face with. All he could find on such short notice was a filter mask he had walked home with on accident after a long shift at the clinic and some of Selina's dark make-up she had bought on a whim.

The filter mask did a good enough job of hiding his lower face. Then he smeared the black make-up around his eyes. As long as nobody looked too closely at him, the disguise would hold.

He left their apartment through the fire escape, climbing up to the roof of the house. From up here, Bruce had a much better view of the city than from the alleys. He made his way across the night sky on silent feet and spotted Selina after a good half an hour of searching. She was taking many detours, but Bruce figured that she was heading towards the docks.

What did she want there? Everybody knew that the docks were the territory of the local arms dealers and therefore off-limits unless you wanted to end up in Gotham's cold, harsh waters.

Selina wasn't dumb enough to sneak into their territory.

\---

Or apparently she was.

If they got home after this with all their limbs still attached, Bruce was going to gut her. He watched from a building right across the warehouses as Selina slowed down and came to a stop. She stood there, right in the open, scanning her surroundings for something Bruce couldn't see. Ten minutes passed and Selina still didn't move away from her spot. It was like she was waiting to get attacked! Bruce had been a scrawny kid, good at hiding away and finding escape routes. Selina, however, was the master of invisibility and would never just stand around in a place like that. Bruce cursed under his breath and took out his phone. He hadn't checked if Selina had taken hers when she had left the apartment, an oversight Bruce wanted to hit himself for, but trying to text her first was a better idea than straight up running up to her.

**What are you doing???**

Thankfully, whatever god was out there watching over Gotham's night, had let Selina take her phone with her.

**Bruce?**

**Rooftop 12 o'clock**

He stood up to wave and Selina spotted him immediately.

**What are you thinking!?**

**I'M WORKING GO HOME ASAP**

**I'm not leaving you here.**

**LET'S GO.**

He didn't need a night scope to see Selina typing furiously. Bruce's patience was wearing thin, he wanted to just shout at her to get the hell out of this place before they got caught. The moment his panic finally won out and he was about to call for Selina, two shadows crawled out of an alley, approaching her. Hastily she packed her phone away and stood up straight.

The men came to a halt about a meter away from her. They were too far away from Bruce for him to pick out what exactly they were saying, but the discussion did not look friendly. Instead, it seemed to become more agitated and aggressive with every second.

He saw the two men moving closer to Selina, both pretty much towering over her. She took a few steps back, but that wasn't enough to escape their grasp.

Bruce balled his hands to fists in an attempt to calm down.

"Leave me alone!" Selina shouted, loud enough for him and everyone else on this block to hear, pushing one guy away from her.

That only seemed to anger them more as the other reached back to punch her. Goon number one pulled something from his waistband.

Blood rushed through Bruce's ears.

A gunshot. Pearls dropping on the ground. He was too slow, too far away and his friend got attacked, hurt, killed-

No.

_Not again._

Steady hands, ( _ragged breathing_ ), a good aim, ( _panic_ ), a loose brick.

Bruce threw the stone as hard as he could and it hit the armed man's wrist, knocking the gun out of his hands. Apparently, that was all that Selina needed to head-butt her current assailant and kick the other one where the sun did not shine.

Faster than the wind she ran away from them, heading in Bruce's direction and climbing up the fire escape. Bruce held out his hand and helped her up to the roof from where they immediately took off.

The screams of the two men still echoed in Bruce's ears when they were already halfway across the city and nowhere near home yet. They collapsed right next to a chimney, his hands in hers, and his lungs feeling like they were on fire.

Selina's shoulders started shaking before choked laughter escaped her lips. Dread and exhilaration made a terrible combination. Bruce's self-control and emotions were all over the place and therefore he would not allow Selina to make fun of him for crying into her shoulder when she was about to do the same.

\---

"They wanted me to plant blackmail on some businessman downtown," Selina confessed in the safety of their home, wrapped in all their blankets. "He's involved with some big shot in the Russian mafia and they wanted him to die. I'm good, but not that good yet, and I didn't want to die for this. I said no."

 _No_ was a concept that wealthy and privileged people could afford.

No, I don't want to eat tonight, I need to lose weight. No, I don't want to go through that alley and risk my life. No, I don't want this.

No.

And yet, Bruce had said no to every should-have-happened and could-have-happened of tonight and saved his friend. Selina was alive, right next to him, and they were fine.

Just a bit of bravery and a good aim was all it had taken. Perhaps this had been a onetime thing. He had been in the right place at the right time with a useful tool.

But maybe this could be more.

\---

He didn't start sneaking out until months later. Another gang war had started up in the clinic's territory, so there was plenty of business and a lot of long shifts to work. Besides that, neither he or Selina did well without seeing each other for long and so she had taken to dropping by at the clinic while Bruce was working.

Doctor Crane called it codependency.

Bruce was perfectly fine acknowledging that going through a life-threatening situation together had severe ramifications. However, he wouldn't go as far as calling it codependency. They were still their own people with separate dreams and goals in life that did not include each other on a bigger scale.

One of Bruce's goals, for example, was to beat up the guys selling drugs on the corner. Their stuff wasn't just dirty and killed the consumer quite fast, they also had a nasty habit of getting kids hooked on the stuff. Not that Bruce considered himself to be the height of maturity with eighteen, but at least he wasn't thirteen and new to this life.

He sneaked out of the apartment around midnight, though it shouldn't really be called sneaking out if Selina was awake and pointedly ignoring his actions. He put on the filter mask again and smeared the make-up around his eyes, before disappearing in the night.

It was liberating, adrenalin pushed him further and further, and the dealers' expressions when he managed to surprise them were the absolute best.

Bruce had gotten into plenty of fights in the last decade, he wasn't exactly someone who went along with what other people said, and that got you into trouble. Perhaps it really was time he started getting into more fights.

\---

Selina disapproved of his more and more regular becoming nightly activities. They had plenty of arguments about it with Bruce attempting to explain why he had to go out and at least try to change this place. If he could help just one person, only one single person, he was already doing more than everyone else.

All Selina saw usually was that it shouldn't be his duty to save others when they were barely getting by themselves.

"I'm not like you, Bruce," she said. "I don't care about every sad little orphan that lost their mother. I can't afford to care about everyone and think I should be fixing all the problems in the world. I didn't create them. It's not my duty to fix anything."

Selina seldom looked as tired as she felt. Out of the two of them, it was Selina who could be the most upbeat and cheerful.

"But you care about me," Bruce said.

This was a fact Bruce knew to be unshakable. They were friends, and they cared about each other, come hell or high waters.

"Yes," she sighed, exasperated, frustrated and fond of him at the same time. "Which is why I broke into a Wayne Enterprises warehouse for you. Thank you and don't ever make me stitch up a bullet wound again."

"That was one time-"

"Bruce, shut up and open your present."

He did as told and carefully unwrapped his Christmas present. He was greeted by sturdy black fabric. Wayne Enterprises’ military standard bulletproof body armor to be exact. Bruce had very nearly dreamed about it ever since he had heard a couple low-level thugs talk about it right before they shot his left leg.

"And all I got you was a necklace," Bruce said, his eyes glancing at the single pearl hanging from a gold chain around Selina's neck.

"It's fine, I'm happy you didn't get me a mask to try to drag me into your hobby. And you know me, I like pretty things. Where does the pearl come from again?"

Bruce grinned, a thousand story ideas already forming in his mind.

"A Chinese treasure that was stolen by bandits. It was actually part of a necklace that was supposed to be a gift for a princess from a lowly fisherman…"

\---

His mother didn't have a grave. Marie and the others had taken care of her body and Bruce hadn't asked what they had done to it. Besides, he didn't need to go visit a graveyard to be able to mourn her or think about her.

He wondered every day if she would approve of what he had done since her death. If she would be proud of him or sad to see what her dear treasure was up to nowadays. His mother always seemed so bright and pure in the darkness of this city. Bruce was everything but. He dressed up in dark body armor to go out at night and fight criminals, often feeling the most like himself when there was blood on his hands.

That was a familiar picture, one he had grown used to. His mother's blood, his patients' and now the blood of criminals' all mixing beneath his fingertips. The only difference was the amount of blood that he spilled.

Bruce did not kill and he didn't use a gun. He could handle one just fine, he had excellent aim, but no one ever used a gun to disarm. A firearm was first and foremost always used to murder a person and if Bruce stepped as low as the people he was fighting, how would he be able to differentiate himself from them in a few years' time?

\---

Doctor Crane wasn't a kind or charming man. He was an opportunist who thought employing a nine-year-old was an acceptable idea and continuing to let that kid and later teenager sleep in his treatment room was perfectly legal as long as he had enough money to pay off the police.

Bruce had always known that he was a cheaper help than an officially hired one and that Crane solely kept him around for that. He only cost the man 10 dollars more bribery with the police as well, which Bruce had to pay himself, so all in all Bruce had been an investment for Crane.

He hadn't expected to matter to the man, which was why he hadn't known that upon the doctor’s death, he had left everything in Bruce's competent twenty-year-old hands.

Crane hadn't seemed to be the type of man who could die or even would die from something like cancer of all things. The most anybody had cared about his death were the regular patients who ended up complaining that everything was running so slow now that Bruce was handling the clinic on his own.

The police had gotten used to Bruce handing them their money years ago, and they were perfectly fine with accepting a little more and congratulating Bruce for taking over his employer's job.

Running the clinic by himself was more work of course, but not all that difficult. He had more than a decade of experience after all and there was little he hadn't ended up managing at one point or another.

Suddenly owning Doctor Crane's apartment, however, was a different deal. Of course, Bruce was happy to get a bigger place and stop thinking about having to pay rent as well as protection money, but he still couldn't shake off Crane's ghost.

"This is such an upgrade," Selina sighed comfortably from the sofa. "Separate kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom, and a guest room."

At least one of them had an easier time accepting this place.

"Honestly, this is luxury. What did you do to inherit all of this?"

That Bruce couldn't figure out himself either. "Be the same age as his nephew?"

It was as good a guess as any.

\---

Between the two of them, they didn't have much, but enough to make multiple trips between their old place and their new one. Picking rooms was a surprisingly tricky affair with Selina insisting on taking the smaller guest room and Bruce Crane's bedroom, which did not sit well with him at all. Mostly because Crane's room was bigger and more comfortable and the Selina he knew would definitely bargain for it.

"Well, I don't want it so you'll have to take it," Selina insisted as they sorted their books into their shelves.

"But why-"

"I just don't, Bruce. Hey, what's with this book?" Selina held up a small leather bound journal Bruce hadn't looked at in years.

"That's my mother's diary."

"Any interesting stories in there?"

Bruce shrugged. "I wouldn't know, I never read it."

He didn't want to learn more about his mother than he already knew. He remembered her as a kind and patient woman so full of love and Bruce wanted to preserve that image of her. He couldn't fool himself into thinking that it was about letting his mother keep her privacy, this was merely him being too afraid to look at a dead woman's thoughts.

"Aren't you curious?"

"No."

Not enough.

\---

The problem with fighting crime with no affiliation to any gang or so whatsoever was that people got confident over time. Bruce had built up a certain reputation as a shadow assassin after a while, but that only meant that his victims started to go outside more prepared. Those he helped were grateful, and there was really no sweeter sight than a couple kids hugging him with broad smiles and running away still alive, but that didn't necessarily stop anyone from committing crimes in general.

Unfortunately, Bruce was only one human, and while humans could be terrifying monsters, everybody knew that humans could bleed and everything that bled, could die.

If Bruce wanted to seriously stop somebody though, he needed to be more than just a human. Scare those scumbags so terribly that they wouldn't ever want to go against the law again.

\---

"What are you afraid of?"

"Death, pain, I don't know. Why are you asking?"

"Just because."

"Talkative as always. Well, what are you afraid of?"

Guns. Screams. Blood.

"Bats. I climbed up a chimney once when I was younger and it was full with them."

Terrifying red eyes, shrill screams echoing from the walls and darkness all around him. Bruce was very much afraid of the small animals, even though he rationally knew that they were harmless and could be cute even. Fears were built on irrationality and emotions, and if you wanted to properly scare someone, you should inflict their worst fear on them, or become it.

\---

**BREAKING NEWS: MAN-BAT STRIKES AGAIN!**

**In the past months, multiple sightings of a bat like creature have been made, but now we got the first police confirmed sighting. The GCPD asks every citizen to remain calm and do not engage the beast until further…**

\---

Selina had taken one look at Bruce's new outfit, sighed and cursed. Bruce was well aware that the refitted cowl, made from stolen military tech Bruce had confiscated at a harbor, and the cape and the whole getup in general looked ridiculous, especially in broad daylight. During the night time, when light was scarce and smoke covered the sky and the ground, his shadow was a sight to behold.

It had taken a lot of exercise to learn how to move as swiftly in the new armor as he had before, but the results were impressive. And his adjustments weren't a hindrance. The cowl kept his head safe from attacks and the cape… Well, it did cast a better shadow, and the few times Batman interacted with kids, it served as a blanket or hiding spot. It didn't take long for Narrows' kids to learn that Batman was their ally.

The people he came after on the other hand were too scared to think of shooting at him or their aim was terrible. It didn't take long for Gotham's Bat to become its terror. The police hated him - but when did they ever like him unless he filled their pockets? - and dealers, pimps and about every other criminal with no policy about hurting others spoke in hushed whispers about him. Of course, not everyone was afraid, many even boasted about catching him, but nobody ever did. The point though was that people talked about him and that he had upgraded from some annoying little vigilante.

Becoming a myth had more advantages than Bruce had thought it could have and Batman was a weapon like no other.

\---

No matter how often she visited, Selina couldn't grow fond of the clinic and also had the worst kind of bedside manner which really shouldn't surprise Bruce. Her reaction to him getting hurt was to get him kevlar and tell him to do better next time.

That still didn't stop Bruce from needing help in the clinic and wanting to give back a little to the people that had helped him before. Marie did not cry when he showed up on her doorstep, but Bruce was pretty sure that it was a close call.

She looked the same age she had four years ago when Bruce had last talked to her, putting their friendship on hold in favor of a screaming match about lousy decisions. The absence of make-up instantly reminded Bruce of the fact that she wasn't even ten years older than him.

No wonder his mother had always looked so relieved when Marie had spent a night at their place.

\---

Selina had been, for the lack of a better word, on edge in the past weeks. She tried to hide it, of course, Bruce would be offended if she didn't, but she was unusually sloppy. The fact that Selina had gladly helped him unpack his belongings but still refused to do the same for her own clued him in just as much as her saving up more and more money.

"I think I want to broaden my horizon," Selina announced one day. "Get out of Gotham for a while, see the sights and all that."

"Why now?"

"Five years are already over and while you got your high school degree through shady means-"

"It's a government funded website, it's as official as every other-"

"-you're not sleeping in Crane's office anymore." Selina paused and looked around the living room. Most of the furniture was still from Crane but they had put up some pictures and plants as well as one more cat named Diamond. "Well, at least not in the same way as you used to, but I'm still here and I still haven't been to Paris."

Understanding dawned upon Bruce as every puzzle piece slowly fell into place. "So, you're leaving?"

Selina sat down on the sofa, and immediately Spade claimed his new spot before the other cat could.

"Just for a while. I need to get out of this city to find my place. You've made yourself at home in a bulletproof Halloween costume and I need to do that as well."

Bruce grinned at her words, causing Selina to frown until she figured out what amused him and immediately threw a pillow at him.

"You idiot! I didn't mean that I'll stalk the night in some spandex suit fighting criminals- Stop laughing, Bruce!"

\---

He drove Selina to the bus station with her most precious belongings stuffed into one bag. The cats she left at home with Bruce, threatening to make his life a living hell should he mistreat them. She didn't really have a plan on where exactly to go and it frustrated Bruce that her greatest pleasure seemed to be to the point that out every other minute. He wasn't exactly what one would call a spontaneous person, he enjoyed well-crafted plans and knowing precisely what would happen next.

It was regrettable that life didn't work that way.

"Don't miss me too much, bat boy," Selina said, seeing him off with a hug. "And don't get into too much trouble. I won't be there to stitch up your wounds."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Please, I did that myself most of the time. Don't get lost exploring the west."

By the time Batman was on the streets again, Bruce was missing his best and only friend much more than anticipated.

\---

Selina's first postcard depicted a small and cozy town somewhere in West Virginia. Bruce closed the clinic early that day and walked downtown to a little bookshop that always sold damaged goods for half the price. There he purchased a big map of the United States, which he pinned above the TV in the living room. With small, red pins he marked Gotham as well as the town Selina had visited and hung the card right beneath it. Then he connected the two points with red yarn from the ball of wool the cats preferred to every other toy Selina had ever brought home.

"So? What do you say?" Bruce asked Diamond, who deemed Bruce worthy enough to get a meow as a reply.

Great, barely two weeks and Bruce was already talking to the cats. He should probably ring up Marie and ask if she had time.

\---

As far as Bruce could tell, the only advantage of Selina not being around was that he could test and craft his gear on the kitchen table and put his chemicals in the fridge without anybody complaining.

It did not outweigh the disadvantages.

\---

He spent his twenty-first birthday eating cupcakes and drinking his first legal beer on the rooftop of Wayne Tower. Selina had sent another postcard. This time of Metropolis with a Superman sticker attached on the back and the order to call her as soon as he got home from patrol, no matter how late. He supposed that as his best friend he should have expected Selina to know that Batman wouldn't take a break, not even on his birthday.

\---

On his way home, Bruce Kane passed an advertisement for a circus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe that I wanted to cover Bruce's childhood in 3.000 words because I really, really wanted to write about him interacting with Dick and Jason? Yeah, needless to say that didn't work out.  
> (Please don't expect regular updates any time soon though.)  
> Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think!


	2. Robin Grayson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Bat meets a Bird (and consequently panics).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ever ask me to write anything again jfc I haven't ever written this much in such a short time.  
> Anway! Super happy to see that people liked this first chapter! So, without much to add besides a reminder to look at my tags, have fun!

Bruce liked to think that he had a fairly stable and regulated course of the day. He stood up at four in the morning, got dressed and made food for a small army and then started letting people into the clinic. Most of the time, a bunch of kids would already be waiting for him with cups in their hands and eager smiles on their faces.

He had given them his leftovers one time and somehow that had translated to him running a small soup kitchen. Well, he preferred those kids running to his clinic for food to them going dumpster diving. This was one way Bruce Kane could improve Gotham that Batman did not have the means to.

Besides, Batman was busy enough stalking the streets each evening, night and early morning. That didn’t particularly leave Bruce with many hours of sleep, but he had always been a very adaptive kind of person.

\---

Selina had been gone for roughly half a year now and dutifully she kept sending him postcards and letters of the places she visited. Often her visits to a city were accompanied by sudden break-ins into the houses of the wealthy or warehouses of companies affiliated with the military.

Bruce had better things to do than complain about the shiny tech Selina sent him once in a while. He had contemplated hiding all of that gear in the sofa, but after two months of that, he had ended up transferring Batman’s base of operation into the basement of the house. Nobody could walk into that by accident as it was much more secure. He hid his laptop there, his workstation and all his gear.

On one wall he kept a vast and very detailed map of Gotham, and right next to it a whiteboard with a copy of that map drawn in permanent marker in which he colored in the current situation in Gotham. Who had their territory where, which places Batman had already checked out, which he still needed to go to and all that.

Another wall was dedicated to the people he was after, one profile pinned to the next one with a lot of differently colored yarn signaling their relationships.

He had run out of red yarn a while ago when Spade and Diamond had hidden it somewhere beneath a cupboard Bruce hadn’t checked yet. Pink made a pretty good substitute though.

\---

Gotham had always had a major problem with organized crime, but trying to find proof that no bribed cop or blackmailed judge could deny was hard. Just delivering a mob boss to the police headquarters with incriminating photos wasn’t enough, Batman had already tried that multiple times with a steadily increasing amount of evidence.

And each time the bad guys got away without even a day in prison. If Batman couldn’t use the police officers’ reaction to the apprehended criminals to slowly learn about who was dirty and who was actually doing their job, he would have stopped delivering them after the third try.

Despite what the newspaper claimed, he wasn’t insane.

Therefore Batman had to figure out a different approach. He began to start at the very bottom of the list: pointing the kids and teenagers employed by various gangs as runners in different directions, following the small-time dealers and scaring them off.

Since cutting off the head of the dragon didn’t work, Batman would start at the other end. It didn’t yield the results he had hoped for in the beginning, but it was the start of something.

Currently, he was trying to get a lead on the Falcone Family. While they made their money with all kinds of things, he was primarily concerned with their drugs and tendencies to get teenagers hooked up on the stuff once they had grown out of being their runners.

He had witnessed what that did to people far too often when he had still been a runner, and it wasn’t anywhere near pleasant. Lately, they had been even more aggressive as well. He had heard from one of the kids he had been feeding that a big shipping of cocaine had gone missing and that Falcone was pissed.

So Batman currently spent most nights tailing dealers, decimating them and learning where they got the drugs from. He knew Gotham well, especially her darker parts. It wasn’t necessarily difficult to determine their hiding spots, just a lot of work for one man.

\---

Batman was following a Falcone thug through Crime Alley when it happened. He had stuck to the rooftops for now to prevent the man from noticing him. He hadn’t been able to pinpoint the man’s exact position in the Family yet, but it was high up enough that his information would be worth following him the whole night for.

Batman jumped on another roof and was about to move forward when a scream from the alley below him distracted him.

Down on the ground was a child desperately trying to land a hit on a group of men. A kid dressed in a neon brightly colored costume was about to get the beating of their life.

Batman cursed and abandoned the trail he had been following in favor of dropping right from the building into the brawl beneath him. Two of the men he took down with his landing alone, the next one fell with a punch aimed directly at his face. Batman was no professional martial arts fighter, but he had grown up on these streets, and he knew how fights were handled here – and how to get the upper hand. He turned around to face number four, but before Batman could stop him, the man grabbed the kid and held a knife to his throat.

“One- one move and it’s over for the kid!” The man stuttered. “I mean it!”

This would have been ten kinds more impressive if the man didn’t look like he was about to faint from fear and actually had a steady grip on his knife. The kid’s reaction, on the other hand, was much more interesting. They stayed calm, nothing about their posture suggested that they felt threatened.

Batman slowly moved his arms up, signaling the man that he was going along with his demands.

“Ha! Not so mighty now, Bat-“

He was rudely interrupted by the knife Batman threw right at the hand that was holding the knife. The man shouted in pain and dropped the weapon, as well as the kid. Instead of running to safety though, like any rational scared child would, the kid kicked the man in the knee cap, forcing him to the ground.

“That went well!” The kid cheered and for good measurements kicked the man again.

They then jumped over the bodies in a somersault of all things and landed right in front of Batman with their hand held out.

“Hi! I’m Robin! Nice to meet you!”

\---

Batman tugged the kid under his arm – he was quite light-weight, malnourished most likely – and climbed up the fire escape with him before settling them down. He scanned his surroundings, but his target must have escaped by now.

He really needed to get some kind of tracking devices.

“Thanks for the help, Batman. That could have gone wrong fast.”

It had already gone wrong since the kid, Robin, had been engaged in a fight in the first place.

“Go home,” he ordered. “You shouldn’t be out at this time, this is no place for a child.”

“I’m ten and I’m not a child anymore, alright?” Robin hissed back with a surprisingly deep amount of venom. They had been so ridiculously happy before and their whole attitude change screamed strange. Batman should have known that there was something off here.

“Besides, I need to be here,” they continued, hands balled to fists. “Somebody killed my parents, and I’ll find him and- and- he will pay.”

“Look, Robin-“

“No!” They stomped with their foot. “I need to find him! I know his name is Zucco, he threatened Mr. Haly because he wouldn’t pay? Then he did something to the ropes, I’m sure of it! And then we had to perform and my parents, they- they just fell. We’re not supposed to fall, we’re _the Flying Graysons_. Why are they dead now?”

The longer Robin talked, the more did their voice shook. Batman tentatively put his arm around their shoulders and without much hassle, two small arms wrapped themselves around his torso while a face pressed into his armor.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair and I’ll get him back for it!”

When his mother had died, Bruce had been cold and silent. He hadn’t even thought about trying to find her murderer because he’d been busy trying to stay alive himself. This child, on the other hand, was filled with fury and rage. And despite all the stuttering, he had been able to tell that their accent wasn’t that of a Narrows’ kid, or a Gothamite in general. Parents dead, not from Gotham but still searching for their murderer here. Maybe they lived here now in state care or with a relative and the parents had been part of an accident? It didn’t sound like they had done anything to warrant the murder, but rather someone else.

Batman waited a little longer until Robin had calmed down before he spoke up.

“Robin, can you tell me what happened?”

“It- it was on the afternoon of the opening night. I saw a man, Zucco, come out of Mr. Haly’s trailer. They were shouting really bad about the circus having to pay money for a falcon, which is weird because we don’t have any birds, or Zucco would make us regret it. Mr. Haly didn’t want to pay and Zucco left, but I’m sure I saw him do something to the ropes my family uses for our act. And then, when it was time for the show, and we were performing, the ropes just- they just _snapped_. And we don’t use a net, because we’re the world’s best so they just fell.”

Batman remembered seeing an advertisement for a circus a while back, it must have been a few months at least, it had been right after his birthday.

“Robin, can we make a deal? I’ll find this Zucco or whoever else was responsible for your parents’ death-“

“Really!?” Robin interrupted. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I knew I could count on you, Batman.”

“But,” Batman continued. “You have to promise me to stay put. This job is dangerous, and I can’t have you running around Gotham on your own, okay?”

Robin crossed their arms and looked up at Batman, blue eyes filled with determination. “Fine. But I want to be there when you have him.”

“Deal.”

\---

When Bruce returned home, he was exhausted. After his encounter with Robin, who did not want to be taken home any further than the police station in Old Gotham, he had gone home straight to do some research.

Robin’s parents had been part of a tragic accident that had happened towards the end of February in Haly’s circus. The Flying Graysons had been a family of acrobats, which explained Robin’s agility and how they’d been able to keep up with Batman so easily. The only survivor of that family was their then nine-year-old son, R. Grayson.

Figuring out that the Zucco Robin had been talking about was probably Antonio Zucco had been easy enough. The falcon Robin mentioned had been the boy mishearing Falcone and Bruce knew from his investigation of the Falcone Family that Zucco was a part of them. He was a prominent drug dealer, known to react explosively when the other party didn’t play along. However, Haly’s circus had set up far away from the Falcone territory, so Zucco threatening the circus for protection money didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Yet the Graysons had still paid the price for Haly’s refusal. Now Bruce had to figure out where Zucco was hiding out and why he had been acting so far outside Falcone territory.

The police hadn’t bothered to investigate that though, as far as Bruce could tell. Maybe he should check that out in more detail.

\---

“I distinctly remember being promised that you would stay put.”

Batman crossed his arms and glared at Robin, who promptly ignored Batman’s attitude in favor of balancing on the edge of a building on his hands.

“I am staying put, right next to you.”

“That’s not what I meant yesterday and you know it.”

“Do I?”

Batman suppressed the urge to groan and tried to up his intimidation to the level that made grown men break out in tears. It didn’t have the same effect on Robin.

“Either I stay put by your side or on the other side of Gotham, exploring on my own,” the boy argued, standing his ground still with his legs up in the air.

Batman contemplated whether leaving the boy to his own devices was safer than taking him with him. His job was dangerous, going after a Falcone Family member was pretty high up on his don’t-involve-anyone list, which said a lot given that he worked alone. Then again Robin was a young kid, not native to Gotham, and leaving him alone on the streets at this time would end badly.

One second passed, then two, then three.

“Fine. But you listen to every word I say. When I say hide, you hide. When I say jump, you jump. When I say run, you…?”

“Run! I got it, B. Seriously.”

“Good.”

Batman mustered Robin’s still brightly colored uniform. The green shorts, the red shirt and the yellow cape would not help the boy stay unnoticed, or give him any kind of protection. It was the outfit his family had worn for their performances, though nobody should be able to recognize it during the night. Batman only knew because he had come across a picture of the Graysons in uniform in one of the newspaper articles covering the accident. At least Robin had enough common sense to obscure his face with a mask.

“Does that outfit even offer you any kind of protection?” He growled under his breath because Batman did not mutter.

“Does it look like it can?”

He was already regretting taking Robin along and they hadn’t even moved away from their rooftop.

“Rhetoric question, Robin,” Batman replied as he opened the belt buckles of the side pockets strapped to his legs.

“Here,” he said and handed them over to Robin. “The right one has throwing knives and the left one smoke bombs. Only use them in emergencies.”

Robin jumped up and down, and quickly put the tiny bags around his thighs. Then he opened them to first take out one of the bat-shaped knives, Selina had gotten him as a joke gift a month ago or so, then one of the smoke bombs and examined them closely.

“A _batbomb_ and a _batarang_. Awesome.”

“A _what_ now?”

\---

They took off in the direction of Tricorner, which was at the other end of the city, right next to Old Gotham where Batman had left Robin last night. It made him wonder where the boy had disappeared to after since he had sought out Batman in Crime Alley.

“Where are we going?” Robin asked. He followed Batman to the next rooftop with ease, incorporating way too many acrobatic forms, but still sticking to the vigilante’s speed.

Batman had learned how to move fast as Bruce out of necessity, parkouring through the city to evade cops and gangs or just get his deliveries done soon enough. Robin was already much better than Bruce had been at that age, and he had managed to survive, hadn’t he?

Then again Bruce hadn’t gone out of his way to look for a criminal as well, at least not at that age.

“We’re heading for Tricorner.”

“Why?”

“For information.”

“What kind of-“

“Robin, shut up. You’ll see when we’re there.”

\---

Batman hadn’t directly interacted with police before today, he hadn’t even planned on it. It was a bit sad, but Batman was skilled enough to break into the police headquarters undetected and, given a little more time studying technology, he’d be able to get in and out of their databases without their notice as well.

However, that wouldn’t be enough for this case. He needed the information of someone who had been there the day Robin‘s parents died, someone who wouldn’t try covering up the evidence.

They land on the rooftop of Commissioner Gordon’s house. The man was honest, far from perfect, but at least he cared about this city enough to try to change it for the better and stick to the law. If somebody asked him, Batman would say that he couldn’t care less about the law. It was useful and necessary and acted as an inhibitor to crime, but it certainly didn’t stop anyone, nor did it differentiate between a woman stealing to keep her children fed and healthy and a business tycoon stealing from his company.

But Gordon cared, and his hands were gentle still even after so many years.

“Where are we?”

“Commissioner Gordon’s home.”

Robin frowned. “That’s the police officer who was at the circus.”

“I know.”

“Will we ask him for details?”

“I will ask him for details. You will stay silent and stay here.”

Batman dropped from the rooftop down to the fire escape.

\---

Robin did not stay on the roof.

Batman didn’t know why he was even surprised anymore. It’s been barely over twenty-four hours and the kid had disobeyed all of his orders already. This investigation would be a nightmare.

Batman knocked against the window of Gordon’s apartment. He lived alone with his daughter, who was about Robin’s age if he remembered correctly, and probably would not appreciate Batman breaking into his apartment.

Soon enough Gordon appeared in front of the window and Batman had to give him credit for not making a sound and just aiming at him with a gun.

Batman stepped back from the window with Robin peaking at Gordon from behind his cape. Gordon opened the window with one hand, the other still holding onto the gun. His eyes darted at Robin for a second before focusing on Batman again.

“Who are you and what do you want? I warn you, I’m-“

“Antonio Zucco,” Batman interrupted him. “A member of the Falcones. He’s responsible for the murder of the Grayson family at Haly’s circus six months ago. I need to know what information you have on him.”

With furrowed brow, Gordon corrected his aim once more. “I’m asking you again, who are you? And who is the kid?”

“I’m someone who can do what you can’t, and the child is none of your concern. Newspapers said that the Graysons’ death was a tragic accident, but we both know that’s a lie. Just give me the information you have and we’ll be on our way.”

The man hesitated and Batman couldn’t, shouldn’t, blame him, but he was on a schedule. He didn’t have all night.

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because we both care about this city.”

He didn’t tone down the hoarse, dark growl he had adopted as Batman’s voice, but he let enough of Bruce sicker through to make the man understand. Gotham accent was harsher than others and the pronunciation of those from the Narrows, Crime Alley, the Bowery, and the likes was even more prominent. They tended to drop the softer consonants and vowels in favor of harsher sounds and heavier aspiration. It was a recognizable accent, and no matter what you looked like, if you were near a crime scene and the police heard you speak like that, you were prime suspect faster than you could even finish your sentence.

Gordon mustered him and slowly lowered his gun, but he didn’t let go.

“Alright, let’s talk. But not here.”

Gordon looked back to the entrance of the kitchen. “I’ll meet you on the rooftop. I heard that’s where you prefer to be either way.”

\---

Gordon took a few minutes until he reached the rooftop. Robin had stayed silent the whole time, so different from the chatter mouth of before. When he finally arrived, Gordon had put on a coat, a bulletproof vest and was still holding onto his gun. His other hand, however, was sporting a cigarette.

“Why does Gotham’s Batman want to know about the death of the Graysons?”

“I’ve been keeping track of the Falcones for a while now. They sell a lot of drugs to minors and I want them gone from my streets.”

Gordon snorted. “Yeah, I’ve seen your work against them. It’s not enough to hold them down, though.”

“Not yet. If I can gather proof that Zucco killed the Graysons on Falcone’s orders though, it might be enough.”

“That is if he did. Zucco disappeared magically since the incident. There has been no official investigation, but I did some digging, and Zucco hasn’t really come up anywhere since the murder. He seems to be hiding. From whom I don’t know though, we certainly didn’t go after him.”

So the question was what was Zucco afraid of? By all means, he should be celebrating that he got away with murder and possibly a good sum of protection money-

That was if Haly’s paid. They didn’t give any more shows in Gotham after that first opening night, they packed up pretty fast and Zucco, for all his aggressiveness, was a coward. He wouldn’t return to the scene of the crime, which meant that he probably didn’t even get any money. He was a known dealer though, selling a lot and earning a lot. He shouldn’t need the extra money, except if he fucked up. Messed up like losing an entire shipment of cocaine and not having enough money to pay back his boss. He wasn’t running from the police, he was hiding from Falcone.

“Thanks for the information, Commissioner. We have what we need, Robin. Let’s go.”

“What? But we barely-“

“Now.”

\---

Batman sent Robin on his way, wherever that may be since the kid wasn’t telling him and wasn’t willing to leave before Batman had. It was a little frustrating not to know where he was disappearing to, but Batman respected his boundaries. He certainly wouldn’t have appreciated anybody butting into his business at that age. He hadn’t told Robin where to meet him the next day, but he sincerely hoped that the boy would stay away from now on.

Of course, Batman rarely got what he wanted.

He had been hunting down another Falcone thug one moment, and the next Robin was by his side, throwing himself off the roof right onto the man’s back.

“Did you see? Did you see?” He asked excitedly, standing next to the groaning man on the ground.

He definitely shouldn't reward a kid's violent behavior, but- “Well done.”

The following interrogation went surprisingly smooth despite Robin’s endless chatter of ‘I’d really just tell him, he gets so cranky otherwise. How old are you? Have you been selling drugs for long? Your parents didn’t teach you any manners. Spitting on people isn’t nice. Batman is the good cop here, or the better cop. You don’t wanna see me in action.’

Batman wasn’t sure how exactly Robin adjusted his intimidation factor, but since the guy was talking within seconds, Batman decided that it didn’t matter.

The detective work obviously wasn’t what Robin had imagined when signing up for tracking down his parents’ killer. He was impatient and started getting annoyed and angry after a few hours, though Batman privately suspected that his attitude had more to do with the fact that he was a tired child way past their bedtime.

Yet Batman couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable to have Robin around. Sure, the kid only listened to half his orders most of the time, but at least always when it counted. He could not shut up for the love of god and as a ten-year-old child, he should really be spending his nights somewhere safe far away from the Bat.

But still, Robin somehow managed to make the dark not as terrifying and lonely.

After a week of nightly meet-ups, Batman brought along a bulletproof vest he had taken from the arms’ dealers at the docks a while ago, as well as knee and armguards he had bought this morning second hand as part of a skateboarding set. Batman had tried to make the vest at least a little bit smaller so that it would not hinder Robin’s flexibility and hoped his adjustments would be enough. The kid needed more protection if he stuck around and the black of the vest would do something against the bright red of Robin’s uniform. The less color attached to Robin, the better.

Robin was already waiting for him by the time Batman reached their rooftop. The moment the boy saw the vest, his eyes lit up in excitement and he started jumping up and down.

“Finally! Real armor!” He cheered and immediately demanded Batman’s help with putting it on.

As soon as the vest was secured, and the guards in place, he went through a couple of flips, jumps, twists and turns before concluding that it was alright, but a bit loose.

“I can fix that,” Batman said and held out his hand again. The sooner that was done, the less time he would spend worrying about dragging a kid along.

“Good! I’ll grab something for the color then!”

Before Batman could stop him, Robin had rushed off.

\---

Robin returned an hour later with old cans of spray paint in various shades of green, red and yellow. Batman was tempted to just kick them off the roof when Robin wasn’t looking but the boy’s excited smile prevented him from taking drastic measurements. As soon as he was sure that the vest fit, Robin took it and the guards off again and began to spray paint them.

His left arm guard ended up neon green, the right one forest green and his leg guards were an interesting shade of olive with yellow edges. The vest, however, was definitely Robin’s masterpiece. The shoulders were a hot pink turning strawberry red, crimson and finally a color Bruce associated with the lipstick Marie wore. On top of the red coating, Robin sprayed a bright yellow R.

“And? What do you think, B?”

That Robin had no self-preservation skills whatsoever and that if Batman ever left him alone now, the kid would one-hundred-percent get himself killed within the next hour.

But Batman couldn’t say that because Robin looked at him like he had hung the moon and the stars and there was a fine line between crushing dreams and being truthful.

“I think that when the bad guys see you, they know it’s game over.”

He didn’t say that they’d think that because Robin’s colors would be followed by Batman’s darkness.

\---

Their investigation was slowly moving forward. Not as fast as Batman would like to, but at least they were getting places. And when they weren’t on Zucco’s trail, they were beating up gangsters, cleaning up Gotham one idiot at a time. Gotham’s Bat was supposed to serve the whole city after all, and the Bird that had taken to following him didn’t mind. Batman was actually pretty sure that Robin would skin him if he didn’t keep up with his regular patrols.

Eagerly Robin waited on him every night – and yes, it did worry him that Robin could apparently slip away from his home each night without anybody noticing. He had gained some weight, and there were no bruises that didn’t come from their work, so Robin wasn’t homeless as far as Batman could tell, but that didn’t make it right either way. Robin deflected all questions about his home life like a professional as well. The smallest inquiries would make him suspicious and so Batman had stopped trying too hard to get him to talk about it. Instead, he let Robin take the conversation to whatever place he wanted it to be.

The whispers about the Bat’s bright little companion, so small and delicate right up until the moment they broke your kneecaps and forced you to the ground, however, stayed.

\---

Selina didn’t often call him, usually only when either of them had another panic attack and needed to calm down, or when she wanted to share how she pulled off another successful heist. She had gotten good, great even. She’d always been a talented thief, but Bruce was sure that by now she was on a level he could only ever dream of reaching.

The important thing though was that usually she stuck to sending him letters and postcards, so her call in the morning had been a surprise.

“Word on the street is that the big terrifying Bat got himself a little baby bat,” was the first thing he heard when he accepted Selina’s call.

Bruce was tired, he hadn’t even had his first cup of coffee yet and he knew that Selina was aware of that.

“It’s a bird,” Bruce replied. “And good morning. How do you even know about Robin? You’re not anywhere near Gotham.”

Selina laughed. “In Gotham, out of Gotham, I still know how to read.”

“The papers haven’t printed anything about Robin yet, though.”

Bruce had paid attention to that. He had wondered whether the Commissioner would say anything or how long it would be until somebody else talked, but no paper had mentioned Robin so far.

“Trust me when I say that I read far more interesting things than the newspapers. I just wanted to know where you picked the kid up and whether he sleeps in my room or on the sofa.”

“Robin came to me asking me for help catching his parents’ murderer. And why would he stay with me?”

“You’ve been keeping him around for at least two months now and he’s an orphan. You’ve got a bleeding heart, Bruce, of course he’d be staying with you.”

Bruce couldn’t see Selina but he knew that she was rolling her eyes at him. He hated it when she talked to him like he was oblivious, revealing all the secrets he didn’t want her to know because that would mean speaking about them.

“Well, he’s not staying with me. The cats, however, have permanently claimed your bed.”

“Greet my babies for me and tell them I love them. Where is Robin staying if not with you?”

“I don’t know. He isn’t telling me. Besides, he’s well fed and healthy so his home must be alright.”

“And you’re respecting his privacy?” Selina asked with an inappropriate amount of disbelief in her voice. Bruce tried and failed not to take it to heart, because he really wasn’t that bad about needing to know where everyone was all the time.

“He doesn’t want me to know, Selina. What am I supposed to do?”

“Offer him a place? You obviously trust him as Batman, and when you’re like that, you’re even more suspicious of people than usual. The kid could be staying anywhere, doing god knows what to stay as healthy as you perceive him. Nobody necessarily has to lay a hand on him to hurt him. We both know you can earn a pretty penny by doing nothing more than just undress-“

“ _Selina!”_ Bruce interrupted her harshly. “He’s not- I’d know-“

“Would you, Bruce? Look, I’m sorry, that was out of line. All I’m saying is that you should just offer him a place. You let me stay despite knowing I wasn’t telling you everything and we worked out eventually. Just do it now before you regret it later.”

Bruce sighed and gently massaged his temple. “Why do you always have to be right?”

“Because that’s what best friends are for. Now that we’ve covered that, I gotta tell you what happened last week because it certainly won’t hit the news…”

He began to prepare for the day with Selina’s chatter at his side. It was a welcomed sound, familiar and warm and feeling so much like home in a way he could barely describe in words.

He’d offer Robin a place tonight. Most likely Robin would deny needing it but insist on Batman unmasking himself. That was alright as well, Bruce guessed. He did trust the kid for reasons he couldn't quite explain with words, and it would be only beneficial if Robin knew he had somebody in his corner.

\---

Tonight, Batman had come to his and Robin’s roof early. It was situated right on Crime Alley’s border to the Bowery, and from the top of the empty water tank on top of the house he could see pretty far in all directions. However, without knowing precisely what he was looking for, he wouldn’t have been able to spot Robin. For all his colorfulness, he was great at hiding and disappearing in Gotham’s fog.

Batman reached into one of his pockets to pull out a small sandwich wrapped in foil. He had started to carry snacks with him about a month ago. Perhaps even longer, he just remembered getting ready for patrol one evening and thinking that a child of Robin’s age would probably get hungry after so many hours out on the street. True enough, Robin had gotten used to being handed food by Batman during patrol. The past weeks had been marked by a lot of changes, more than Batman thought he could handle at once. Just by looking around their roof he could spot so many, starting by the fact that nowadays he had something declared a distinct roof. All around the area Robin and he had spray-painted targets for Robin to aim batarangs at and learn how to properly use them. He still couldn't believe he had let himself be talked into making more of them. It was an unnecessary extravagance, but Robin insisted that they added to their style. Then there was the rough miniature map of Gotham he had forced Robin to memorize, the first aid kit stashed away between two boxes, as well as the blanket Robin had been gifted by a group of homeless teens they had saved. Unfortunately, their horror at Robin’s shorts had not encouraged the boy to switch to longer pants.

He should have asked Robin earlier whether the kid needed or wanted to stay with him, though he honestly had no idea what to do if Robin agreed. He’d have to see about getting him back to school and figure out their housing situation. Selina had implied that she’d be alright with Robin sleeping in her room, but he wasn’t going to let that happen while she wasn’t home to properly speak her mind. He could always just sleep in the basement and give Robin his room, it wasn’t like he spent much time in it in the first place.

Before his thoughts could drift too far away, Robin had reached the roof, turmoil written into his every movement.

“Robin, what’s going-“

“I’ve got a lead on Zucco,” Robin blurted out. “Come on, come on, we have to go!”

“Stop,” Batman ordered. “Slow down. Where did you get the lead from?”

“His niece! I stopped by her on my way here, just to check on her again and see if her step-dad had finally left them, but she was waiting on me! She told me Zucco had stopped by and threatened her mom for money and she gave me an address and we really have to go now!”

They had stumbled upon Zucco’s niece on accident. The girl had been hit by her step-father when he and Robin interfered, chasing the man off. She had been very thankful and eager to help when she had heard that they were chasing after her uncle. She apparently didn’t like him very much since the Falcones now regularly dropped by her home to check whether Zucco had shown up there, despite years of no contact to his sister. That he had done so now meant either that the man was getting desperate, or that Robin and Batman were walking into a trap.

“It could be a trap.”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“I know, but we have to check it out anyway, just in case it’s not. We have to be sure, B. She said Zucco’s hiding out in East End.”

And with that Robin took off, not sparing a second glance at Batman. So what else was he supposed to do but follow the child?

\---

Robin was reckless and doing far more riskier jumps than usual. Already five times Batman had moved closer to him to be able to catch Robin should he fall. He was focused solely on reaching Zucco in time, disregarding his surroundings completely. It wasn’t easy to keep calm during the night when confronted continuously with so many horrors, but it was necessary. Once your emotions instead of your logic started to determine your direction, you put yourself in harm’s way.

But precisely that was why Batman stayed at Robin’s side.

\---

Zucco’s new hiding spot was a tiny warehouse belonging to a small nondescript company. Robin had wanted to rush right in, but Batman had been able to get him to do a perimeter check first.

When that turned out to be alright, nobody could hold Robin back from sneaking into the building. They found Zucco sitting on top of a few boxes, smoking a cigarette. He was tall and broad, but his face was ashen, pale and sunken in. He must be tired from the months of watching and judging by the way his right hand was tapping against his waistband where his barely hidden gun was tucked in, he wouldn’t take well to surprises.

Batman turned to Robin, only to see the youth’s muscles tensing. “Robin, don’t-“

But it was already too late. Robin had jumped down on the man, kicking him off the boxes.

“You,” he snarled and punched Zucco in the face. “It’s your fault! _It’s all your fault!_ ”

Cursing, Batman followed Robin and with a swift grab managed to pull Robin off Zucco and shield him as the man had finally got a grip on his gun and fired. The bullet hit Batman’s torso, and the hit must have shocked Zucco enough for the split second of hesitance Batman used to jump behind a couple boxes with Robin. If he and Robin got out of this alive, he’d ground the kid and send Selina a lot of thank-you flowers for the armor.

The gunshot had seemed to tear Robin out of his mindless onslaught, forcing him to rethink.

“B?”

“I’m fine,” Batman grunted. He was pretty sure the place where the bullet had hit him would bruise. “We need to get the gun out of his hands.”

“Easy enough,” Robin hissed and took out one of the batarangs.

They had practiced this countless times, Robin’s hands were steady and his breathing was even. He looked around the corner, avoiding Zucco’s second shot by a hairsbreadth, and threw the batarang. Zucco let out a pained cry and Robin ran around the corner again.

Sure enough, the gun was lying on the ground and Zucco’s hand was bleeding. Robin rushed to the weapon and as soon as it was in his hands, he aimed it at Zucco.

The drug dealer froze and slowly his expression twisted to a terrified one.

“P-please, don’t shoot! I’ll do everything! I have contacts! I can get you money or weapons. Whatever you want!”

“I want my parents back!” Robin shouted and shot Zucco in the leg. “You killed them and I want them back! Can you do that? Can you give them back?”

Zucco screamed and dropped to his knees, pressing his uninjured hand against the wound.

“I’m- I’m sure we can… we can reach-” He stuttered, but Robin didn’t listen to him.

“I don’t care about what we can-“

“Robin, that’s enough.”

Robin didn’t look away from Zucco, he kept his aim and eyes right on his face. His hands, however, had started shaking.

“He killed my parents, Batman.”

“I know.”

Bruce slowly stepped closer to Robin’s side, coming to a halt right behind the boy.

“He deserves to die!” Robin cried out, tears running over his cheeks. “It’s not fair that he gets to live! He’s _bad_ , he’s a murderer.”

“And you’re _good_ , Robin,” Batman said. “You’re such a good kid and your parents wouldn’t want you to step so low for revenge. You don’t have to commit a crime to make up for another person’s actions. They want you to be happy and this won’t make you happy.”

He reached for the gun and Robin’s grip on it loosened. Batman disarmed it and threw the parts far away from the kid.

Then, perhaps a bit clumsily, Batman pulled Robin into a hug. Just like that first night, Robin pressed his tearstained face into his torso and quietly cried with trembling shoulders.

“I just want my mom and dad back. Why did they have to die? _Why them!?_ ”

“I’m here, Robin. I’m still here and I won’t leave. I’m proud of you, you did great…”

Batman continued to talk until his throat was too hoarse to keep speaking and Robin couldn’t cry anymore. He didn’t say that everything would be alright, remembering how much he had hated to hear those words. But he could promise that he would stay with Robin. He wasn’t exactly sure whether his words really reached Robin, but since he seemed to calm down, his presence must be helping one way or another.

\---

They left Zucco in front of Commissioner Gordon just outside the police office. Zucco confessed everything from the Graysons’ murder to many minor and major crimes Batman hadn’t known about. He didn’t connect Robin to the Graysons’ murders though, unlike the Commissioner who kept glancing at Robin. He hadn’t said anything on the way to the police station, nor did he move around much, caught up in his own thoughts.

Gordon didn’t ask them anything about Zucco’s condition and let Batman and Robin go without as much as a comment.

It was almost too easy to slip back into old habits after that. They moved away from the police station and headed for the roof they usually said their goodbyes on. When they reached it, they just sort of stood there with neither moving. Robin always waited for Batman to disappear and now that he wasn’t, they reached an impasse.

“Look,” Batman said. “I should have done this before, but I want you to know that you have a place with me.”

“Thanks, Batman,” Robin muttered.

“I mean it, Robin. I know you haven’t said anything about where you’re staying, but if you need a home, you can have one with me.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “What do you mean…?”

“I have a spare room.” Well, he was working on it either way. “And if you want to move in with me, you can. I don’t want to replace your parents.” Bruce added the last part hastily before Robin could object. “But I want you to know that you can have a home by my side should you need it.”

For a moment Robin said nothing, then he rushed to Bruce and hugged him again. This time without tears.

“Thank you, B. You’re the best. I need to grab some stuff though. That might take a while. I’ll get my things to the roof tomorrow evening, can’t get out beforehand. Where do you even live? In a cave? In the sewers? Do I get to see what your face looks like?”

Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He looked around but didn’t see anybody who could spy on them. Satisfied, he looked down at Robin’s smiling face again and slowly pulled off the cowl.

“Nice to meet you, Robin. I’m Bruce Kane.”

Robin gasped and gently reached up with one hand, poking Bruce’s cheek. “ _Woah._ You’re young! I thought you were older.”

Bruce snorted. “You think an old man could fight like this?”

\---

Robin promised to meet up with Bruce the next day as early as he could, though that apparently wouldn't be until the regular time anyway, and denied Bruce’s offer to help him get his belongings. In turn, Bruce promised that they wouldn’t go on patrol tomorrow, but instead explore Bruce’s apartment. Even his insistence that it was nothing special and tiny didn’t discourage Robin.

“See you tomorrow, B!” Robin shouted and ran off the roof, dropping a few meters and landing on the next one.

Batman waited until he couldn’t see Robin anymore before he retreated home himself. He had an apartment to clean up.

\---

Bruce called Selina as soon as he returned home. She didn’t answer the phone though, so perhaps she was out on a heist again. He left her a voice message retelling the events of the night, then he got started on tidying up the apartment. Bruce wasn’t a messy person. He had never had many belongings and held what he possessed close to his heart. Everything had a place and that was where he could find something should he need it.

However, a place being neat didn’t necessarily mean that a child could stay there. Robin had agreed to move in enthusiastically with whatever belongings he still had, so he probably expected space to put them. Bruce took a look at Selina’s bare room and decided that he’d let Robin have his, it was bigger either way, and since Robin could not sit still under the threat of death, more space was for the best. With a sigh, Bruce began to move his clothes into Selina’s room. They had shared one room and a bed for years, she wouldn’t mind sharing again, if she returned any time soon. She would maybe also let Robin have her room, but Bruce didn’t think a phone call alone could resolve that.

In the end, it wasn’t much that Bruce had to move around, which was a relief as much as a disappointment. He had expected to accumulate more things over the years since he earned more money, but besides a few more shirts there really wasn’t much. He’d have to recheck the batbudget, vigilantism devoured more funds than he had expected.

And now, with a kid staying here, Bruce would have to think of making cuts on other ends. He’d have to send Robin to school as soon as possible, get him clothes, feed him and buy toys or at least get him something to entertain himself with when Bruce was busy at the clinic.

Though, maybe Robin could help out there in his spare time.

Bruce tried to imagine Robin running from one patient to the other, fixing smaller injuries and balancing on the wooden chairs in the entrance hall.

It would be good first aid training for him, but that was where Bruce would have to draw the line. No matter what Robin and his own experience said, the kid shouldn’t have to work just because Bruce couldn’t think of anything to keep him off the streets and out of trouble during the daytime.

It was bad enough that Robin accompanied him on nights. Bruce needed to take his measurements first thing in the night. Robin needed a uniform with better protection, preferably in black. If he started living with Bruce, he would probably agree more readily to changes as well. Otherwise, Bruce could probably ban him from the TV? Or maybe ground him?

His thoughts came to a sudden stop, and Bruce decided that he had reached the moment where his mind drifted off into a very uncomfortable space, asking for a definition of the relationship he had with Robin.

He wasn’t Robin’s father, he didn’t want to be his parent, but Robin wasn’t Selina either who was his best friend but not his responsibility. He didn’t have to make sure she had brushed her teeth or provide her with food, she’d done that all on her own.

Bruce froze.

He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? Living with a child full-time, attempting to get Robin into adulthood without any incidents such as starvation, drug addiction, gang affiliations, prostitution or murder in the Narrows.

He was so out of his depth. Bruce tried to call Selina again, but the beeping tone of her voice message sounded like her bell-like mocking laughter.

Groaning, Bruce dropped onto his bed. He’d figure it out, he always did. Now he needed to get some sleep.

Of course, that was precisely when his alarm clock rang.

\---

Batman arrived an hour earlier that night, waiting patiently for Robin to turn up. He had brought an extra bag in case Robin needed some help carrying his belongings and sat down on the edge of the building to get a little more comfortable.

The hour waiting turned into two, then three and four and too soon it was morning again, Batman was exhausted, and Robin hadn’t shown up at all. Maybe the boy had spent the entire day asleep, crashed after last night’s action. Just because he had seemed alright again at the end of the night, didn’t mean Robin was actually okay. Bruce certainly hadn’t been fine after witnessing his mother’s death, and he doubted he would have been okay seeing her murderer somewhere on the streets at Robin’s age.

He wasn’t even sure if he would be alright if he met that man today.

When the sun finally came up, Batman decided to call quits and return to his apartment. Robin would show up tomorrow, cheery as always. For now, Bruce had a clinic to open and other lives he needed to save.

\---

During Crane’s time, the clinic had actually treated about as many humans as animals. The injured men and women Doctor Crane took in were emergencies most of the time or had wounds that couldn’t be explained at a hospital without dirty cops showing up asking for hush money about that bullet wound.

Of course, the more impoverished people who couldn’t afford a real doctor or the hospital had come to Crane as well. Those were usually the patients Bruce got to treat. They hadn’t paid all that well since they simply didn’t have the money.

Those were the people that showed up on Bruce’s doorstep the most nowadays. He didn’t get many pets to treat anymore, which was great because everything above or below a dog or cat was kind of out of his level of expertise. Not a lot of gang members showed up anymore as well, which had to do with his reputation.

Nobody died in his clinic, but he didn’t mind treating assholes last because they had broken into Mrs. Fernández’s store last night and now had the gall to show up on his doorstep when she was sitting right there.

And Bruce had gotten into too many fights as a teen with only his status as a doctor protégé keeping him safe against harsh life-threatening revenge.

Doctor Crane hadn’t cared as long as Bruce’s eyes had still been able to see and his hands ready to work. There were a lot of things Doctor Crane never had to do, such as ordering vaccinates for children on the black market for example or feeding people besides his apprentice.

It was worth it, though. Bruce was doing good work here and he was improving the situation in this part of the city.

Perhaps it wasn’t the vigilantism that ate up so much of Bruce’s earnings.

\---

Batman waited for Robin again that night and like before the little bird didn’t show up.

Nor did he come the next night, or the one after.

Robin had a quick tongue and didn’t mind telling Batman to back off. He had done so in multiple far more dangerous situations in the past.

Something had happened, and Batman was going to figure out what.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late yet.

\---

Months ago, Batman hadn’t been good enough to hack into the police databases undetected. Back then he had still been working on his crappy first laptop and barely gotten started on learning computer language.

But Bruce had always been a fast learner and a smart kid. He had gotten himself a high-school education without any aid, and he was pretty sure that he was a more competent doctor than some of the people right out of medical school.

Never mind that he had grown up in a colorful neighborhood. One could say what they wanted about the Narrows, but people of all ethnicities lived her. It was a dark place, and there wasn’t a lot of light, but there had always been color. Not picking up bits of other languages was impossible with how interwoven different languages were in the slang spoken here. Languages were something Bruce was exceptionally good at.

Mastering one made up of zeroes and ones really wasn’t all that difficult for Batman.

He figured out which orphanage Robin had been brought to within thirty minutes. He hadn’t even needed to dig deep.

\---

Showing up at St. Aden's Orphanage as Batman seemed unwise, to put it mildly, but he also didn’t want to arrive there as Bruce Kane in case his questions arose suspicions. He didn’t have the money to pay off more cops this month. Instead, he went to a second-hand store and bought the ugliest green suit he could find, a yellow dress shirt with black stripes and a pair of sunglasses. Once he put on the clothes, he walked straight, his head held high. He didn’t bother with side-glances, and to every Gothamite it would be clear that this man was here for business. Perhaps he was a little crooked, but not overly dangerous. The kind of man you could get a beer with and hear him confess a thousand minor thefts without having enough evidence to trace it back to him.

Matches Malone walked into St. Aden’s Orphanage with a cigarette in his mouth, he extinguished only when one of the younger nuns could be seen glaring disapprovingly like she didn’t drink a bottle of red wine every Sunday after mass.

Malone entered the administrative office of the orphanage and found an elderly nun squinting at a computer, carefully typing in once sentence one tap at a time.

“Excuse me,” Malone spoke up, North Jersey accent rolling off his tongue smoothly.

The nun looked up to him and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Yes? How can I help you, Mr…?”

“Matches Malone,” he replied. “I’m here to see Robin Grayson? The boy should have been in your care as of March first, this year.”

The woman frowned and Malone wanted to sigh. He should have known that even in Gotham people would question strangers asking around in an orphanage.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat his name, please? My hearing has gone bad in this old age.”

Or perhaps nobody cared here as well.

“Ro-bin. Gray-son.”

“Richard you said?”

“No-“

“Lovely boy, so lucky too!” The nun interrupted Malone. She held onto her cross and nodded. “He had to spend the first months in juvie because they couldn’t find a place for him until one opened up here. Poor boy, he was so frightened and angry, but he got better lately. I’m telling you it was God's spirit and the masses. They do wonders for the souls and I’m so happy that poor circus boy got adopted. Lord knows what could have happened-“

“Not Richard. His name is-“ Malone stopped. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“Well, he got adopted a week ago. Lovely family. A man and his wife with already one son Richard’s age. They insisted that they wanted him, after barely exchanging a few words or taking a look at the other kids. They knew he had a good heart from the first moment on.”

“What’s the family’s name?”

“What’s it to you?”

The nun politely folded her hands and leaned back in her chair. So that was how things were run here.

“I’m an old family friend,” Malone admitted and began to take cash out of his wallet. “I couldn’t get here sooner, I was traveling the country on business. I work for an insurance company, you know? I just wanted to make sure Richard’s alright and take care of him. His parents would have wanted him to stay with me. Of course, if he’s happy with the family, then he could stay there, but I gotta make sure, you know?”

Bruce wouldn’t eat as much as he usually did next week, but at least he had a name and an address.

\---

It didn’t take long for Batman to figure out that Robin- Richard - the boy’s name was Richard and he should really stick to it – was definitely not staying with the family that had adopted him. They lived in a small house in a nicer neighborhood and Batman could see why the adoption had gone through so quickly. Coming across homes willing to take in children in Gotham was rare, never mind finding good ones. He observed the family for two days before he concluded that Richard wasn’t in their house at all. He didn’t show up in any window, and the houses in this area didn’t have a basement to hide him in due to too much water in the ground.

But Batman was at the right address, looking at the right family, so where was Robin?

He waited until night time to break into the building. The father was still awake, working in his office while the mother and son were sleeping. Batman entered the house through the living room, passing the gun cabinet. It wasn’t even locked. Without a sound, Batman took out the two guns and took out the munitions. The last thing he needed was anyone shooting at him while he interrogated the father.

Batman continued on, passing by the bedroom and the son’s room and finally entered the office. He had wanted to do this calmly, silently. He didn’t want to alert anyone, but as the father was typing away on his laptop, Batman saw the tiny green bag next to the desk. It was the same shade as Robin’s mask and an old and worn stuffed elephant was sitting next to it.

He recalled Robin’s tales of the circus, how much he missed traveling, performing and his best friend in the whole world with the exception of Batman – an elderly elephant lady named Zitka, wearing a red hat, just like the miniature version Robin had of her.

And then Batman lost his calm.

Marcus Brown didn’t know what hit him until after Batman already had his hands on him.

 “Where is he!?” Batman roared and, with his hands on the man’s throat, pushed him against the wall, his head banging against it with a loud crack. “Where is the boy you adopted? Where is Richard? Answer me!”

“I- I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me! You have his things right here!”

Behind him, Batman could hear the mother and the child approach. They didn’t enter the room, but the child screamed and the woman began to sob.

Batman didn’t care.

It happened too often, kids just disappearing and never resurfacing, ending up in brothels or being sold to sick people. He couldn’t let that happen to Richard. He should have interfered earlier, should have asked the boy where he was living, if he needed a safe place to stay. It was all his fucking fault, Bruce felt like throwing up.

“ _Where is Richard!?_ ”

“ He- he- they-“

“Tell me where he is!”

“They took him!” Brown shrieked, wetting himself in fear.

“Who?”

“The people in the masks! They- they- paid us. We just had to take the boy for two days and then they took him. I had a debt and I needed money, they would have taken my son and- I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Nobody would miss a brat like him.”

Batman let go of the man in utter disgust and he fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. His family rushed to him, holding onto Brown with their lives.

“They wore white owl masks! I don’t know anything more, I promise. I promise. Please, don’t hurt us- please don’t.”

“Be glad,” Batman hissed.

Glad that Batman had better things to do then stay and beat his opinions into Brown. He reached for Richard’s belongings and picked them up. Brown and his family recoiled in fear when his hands were a little too close to them.

Batman turned around and left without another word.

\---

The first thing Batman did was check up on all stores and gangs whether they had white owl masks, and he only returned home when he could definitely exclude that possibility. He didn’t bother to change his outfit, he would be going out again soon enough. He carefully sat Richard’s things on the sofa and began to look in his belongings for clues. A bunch of clothes and photos were all the bag stored. His Robin outfit was missing, though Bruce couldn’t tell whether that was because Richard was wearing his uniform while being taken by the men in masks or if he had hidden it beforehand.

He was at his wits’ end. He needed help.

Bruce dialed Selina’s number, hoping she’d pick up. He didn’t know who else to turn to. He didn’t have anyone in this city.

The phone ringed only once before Selina answered.

“Hello, Bruce. I’ve been wondering when you’d call! Finally gonna introduce me to Robin?”

His mouth went dry and he forgot how to breathe. No word would come out and he didn’t know why he couldn’t just say something-

“Bruce? Bruce, are you there?”

“H-here,” he stuttered. He hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks. Why was he having one now? He had more urgent matters to attend to, he needed to find Richard. He couldn’t be weak now.

“Bruce, I need you to breathe with me. In and out, just like always. Come on, we’ll do it together. In.”

Bruce breathed in.

“And out.”

He followed suit again and orientated himself by Selina’s words, breathing with her until he could do it on his own with her just chatting about how lovely Central City was and how he really had to visit it someday.

“Better now?” She asked after what felt like a lifetime.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Is that what you called me for?”

Bruce slowly got up from the ground and instead moved towards the sofa. “No, it’s not. I need your help, Selina. It’s about Richard.”

“Who is Richard?”

“I mean Robin. His real name is Richard. He’s missing and I don’t know how to find him.”

Silence followed with Bruce trying to calm his breathing again and Selina thinking.

“What happened to him?” She finally asked.

This was why Bruce missed her. Selina didn’t try to make things seem better than they were. For all that she was a deceiving thief, she was honest with him.

“He was adopted by a family who had done so to get money. They took him, Selina. It’s been a week and Richard is still missing and I don’t know where to look or what to do. He could be dead or worse and if I had just listened to you and taken him in earlier-“

“It’s not your fault, Bruce,” Selina interrupted him harshly. “You are not responsible for other people’s crimes. This is not your fault. Repeat after me, this is not my fault.”

“Selina, we don’t have time for this. I need to-“

“You need to repeat my words. This is not my fault.”

“This- this is not my fault. Now, please, I need your help.”

“It’ll be a few days until I can be in Gotham. If you have money for a plane ticket, I can be there faster, but I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I’m better at retrieving things than finding people.”

Bruce cursed and once again wished that she hadn’t moved away. He felt incredibly selfish for wanting her back here when he could tell that her time away was helping her find a ground to stand on. But Bruce didn’t know how to do this on his own, he didn’t know where to start. Even if Selina claimed that this wasn’t what she excelled at, she was still much better than she gave herself credit for, never mind that her presence would help him stay focused for longer than two minutes.

“Is there any other information you have on Richard’s disappearance. You said the family took him in for money. Did they tell you who paid them?”

“People in white owl masks,” Bruce repeated the man’s words. “It’s so fucking stupid, and it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. There’s not a single gang that uses white masks or owl masks, or a combination of both and I already checked the stores, but none of them sell white owl masks for Halloween or whatsoever.”

“You’re sure they said white owl masks? Bruce, this is important. Was it really white owl masks?”

Selina sounded worried, afraid even. Terrified like she had been years ago up on that rooftop after their encounter with death at the docks.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why? Do you know something?”

She stayed silent long enough that Bruce worried whether something had happened to her as well.

“Have you ever heard that nursery rhyme?” Selina finally spoke up.

“What nursery rhyme?”

Selina laughed, bitter and humorless. “Right, I forgot, your mom was an immigrant. It’s an old Gotham nursery rhyme. My mom used to recite it on her better days. I still know it.”

Selina cleared her throat, then she began to speak.

“ _Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head_.”

Bruce didn’t think his mother had ever recited a nursery rhyme like that. Most of her lullabies had been Italian, but the words still sounded familiar, like Bruce should know them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know how there are catacombs beneath Gotham? You can enter them from the sewers.”

“No one goes there, though. You know that.”

That was common knowledge. You could hide out in the sewers for a while. Some gangs and smuggling rings operated there, but they were easy enough to avoid. However, nobody went deeper than the sewers.

“But why?” Selina pressed.

“Because everyone who does disappear…” Bruce trailed off. “You think Richard is there. Why and what does it have to do with that rhyme?”

“It might be nothing, but there have always been whispers. My mom used to say that owls were living down there, sleeping by daylight and attacking Gotham by night. It doesn’t make sense, and my mother certainly shouldn't be cited as a reliable source. I know it’s not much or what you wanted to hear from me right now, but all I could think off when you mentioned white owl masks was this.”

“Thanks, Selina. It’s more than I had before.”

Bruce stood up, looking outside through the window. The sun was rising and the city was getting busier again.

“I’ll be there in two days, Bruce,” Selina promised. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“It’s been seven days already, five of those with Richard captured by those masked people. I’m past stupid, Selina. I’m desperate. Don’t forget to feed the cats when you get here.”

“Bruce-“

He ended the call. He needed to repack his pockets, and then he had a boy to find and bring home, no matter what it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need all of you to remember that Bruce is 21 years old here and since I tweaked the time line, only 11 years older than Dick, which puts him somewhere between older brother and father figure. Meaning he will totally lick his pudding so Dick won’t eat it but is also down to read bed time stories.  
> Before anyone complains about Dick just straight up shooting Zucco in the knee, he spent about half a year in juvie instead of the 3 months he does in some canon and this is all in all a darker Gotham. Despite how cheery he acts and is at some parts, Dick is a traumatised ten year old child who has been without a stable caregiver for half a year and the first person he forms a close relationship to is the myth like vigilante Batman.  
> Bruce on the other hand is much younger, constantly exhausted, overworked and suddenly responsible for a child. Of course, he starts to freak out when his kid is gone.  
> Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter!


	3. Gray Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracking down lost little Birds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Gray “I couldn’t have just gone home with Bruce immediately because I wanted 15.000 more words of world-building” Son.  
> For extra feels, listen to “Hold On Just a Little While Longer - Detroit become human”, “Unsteady - X Ambassadors” and “Coming home part II - Skylar Grey” while reading. That was basically my writing music for the past months.
> 
> Warnings for allusions to vomiting and child abuse. Canon-typical violence and all that Jazz.
> 
> AND A HUGE THANKS TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS [GraceEliz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz) and [Scottishwaitress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scottishwaitress/pseuds/Scottishwaitress)!

Gotham was a city that slowly devoured you, one thought at a time, and made you a piece of herself, while also becoming a part of you at the same time. You couldn’t grow up in Gotham without gaining a subconscious understanding of how the city worked. The level of understanding depended on the person, of course. Someone from Little Italy might know all the interesting and unique little shops that were a one in a million kind of attraction while someone from the Diamond district could tell you where all the important and influential people of Gotham lived and someone born in the Narrows could point you to every gang in range.

Bruce had tried to collect as much information about Gotham as a whole as possible. Many of the Narrows’ criminals were just henchmen for bigger fish like the corrupt politicians drinking expensive wine half across town. If he wanted to catch them, he needed to know Gotham better than everyone. Thus Bruce had watched and learned all about the sewers where gangs and homeless people resided, the rooftops where thieves and runners disappeared to as well as the brightly lit streets the rich walked and the little stores extraordinary people disappeared to.

None of that knowledge helped him now. The sewers of Gotham were one thing, the catacombs beneath them another. For one, they were older and ran much deeper. Nobody hid down there, because nobody ever returned. It already took some skill to navigate the sewers properly, but the catacombs were supposed to be a maze of an even worse caliber.

Batman had walked through the sewers for an hour before he found an accessible entrance to the catacombs. Many of them had been sealed off over the years, for what reason he didn’t know, or just couldn’t be opened due to rust or other time-related reason.

The entrance Batman used was high up north, under Crest Hill if he were to guess. The door was a curious thing, really. In a place like this, nobody would expect a thick metal door, fitting of a bunker, yet here it stood right in front of him, keeping him away from Richard. The owl scratched roughly into the metal looked like it was taunting him, but otherwise, this part of the sewers didn’t seem all that remarkable. It was just as dirty and gritty as one would expect when shown the pictures of gutters.

But to someone who has walked through the dirty waters for some time, it was evident that this place was just a bit too clean, a bit too frequently occupied. Gangs would have sprayed this place, boldly declaring this their territory. This wasn’t the case here. Somebody was actively trying to make sure nobody would go investigating here, trying to downplay the significance of this place.

Too bad they had managed to anger the Bat to the point where he didn’t particularly care if he was kicking down the front door to the catacombs.

Batman pulled at the bolt of the door, and with a screeching tone, it opened. Time to face the music.

X

The catacombs didn’t just look old, they also smelled possibly ancient like decay and foul. Yet they were surprisingly clean and light with the stone used to build them being white marble that had grayed only a bit over time. It must have been pure white when all of this was built. The further he walked, the lighter did the walls become as well. He tried to stick to the paths that looked like they were the most frequently used, though most of the time he was guessing. Given the directions he had taken, he must be beneath the Bowery or Robbinsville right now, but he could be wandering meters beneath Otisburg as well and he wouldn’t be able to tell.  The only markers this place had were the ones he left behind at every crossing. He carved tiny Bs into the walls so that he would know which way he had walked on his way back, or if he should run into a dead end.

He hadn’t encountered a single one yet. Only ever more paths to take.

X

 He didn’t take any breaks, he just kept marching on, biting into one of his pocketed granola bars after a few hours so that he could keep going. He wasn’t hungry, the stress and the adrenaline kept him wide awake and unaware of his needs, but he knew that sooner or later he would crash and that was something he couldn’t afford right now. Richard was depending on him, Bruce had promised him a home.

He had to keep going.

X

The next time he looked at his watch, it had already been 11.00 p.m. for at least two hours going by his internal clock. A few seconds of observing his watch’s second hand told him that it was broken. Maybe the battery had run out or the water damage from before had finally gotten to it. Either way, Batman was now also exploring this maze without any way to measure the time.

Selina would definitely kill him when he and Richard got home after she arrived in Gotham. Then again, he had never given himself a deadline for his search.

X

He was starting to lose his concentration and his arms felt like lead. Maybe he should take a break. Just sit down for one moment to catch his breath, rethink his approach, and get rid of the hallucinations of moving shadows. He wasn’t seven and afraid of the dark anymore. There was nothing supernatural about this place, nothing to be scared of. At the end of the paths lay Richard and some conspiracy murder cult.

He sat down and closed his eyes.

Just one moment of rest.

X

When he woke up again, he felt refreshed. Not good by all means, but better. The shadows had stopped moving, thankfully, and he felt a little less like falling over on the spot. According to his internal clock, it was midday. Selina would arrive in Gotham in twenty-four hours. Hopefully, she wouldn’t follow him down here.

After all, somebody had to feed the cats.

X

He was very grateful he had started carrying around snacks for Richard. Sure, Bruce could carry on without food for much longer, but he doubted he’d be in a good enough shape to get Richard home by the time he reached him without any meals until then. He just hoped Richard was fed at least something down here; otherwise, their escape from here would be much harsher than Bruce had anticipated.

Not that he had done a lot of planning before storming the castle; neither about how to find Richard or how to get out again nor about what do with Richard afterward.

Chances were that whoever took him, wanted him for a specific purpose that needed him alive. It certainly didn’t mean he’d be healthy, but right now Bruce could work with alive. Malnourishment could be treated, broken bones would heal, and everything beyond that they’d figure out as well.

Right now, though, Bruce would do anything for a warm meal and some water. He still had a bit to drink, but it was barely enough to last him through the day, and his food rations were getting short as well. Bruce thought he had packed more, but he had been in such a rush to go chase after Richard, he had probably forgotten. It was a dumb mistake. He just hoped he wouldn’t feel the repercussions too harshly.

X

Bruce woke up to a pounding headache and a stiff neck, the latter originating from his uncomfortable sleeping position. Lying down in the batsuit really hadn’t been a great idea. Groaning, Bruce got up and stretched. Then he moved forward. He had yet to find a sign of anything at all.

X

There was a fountain in front of him. It was made out of the same marble as the walls, bright and grand and kept in good shape.

Bruce thought he was hallucinating. What the hell was a perfectly functioning fountain doing right in front of him? It didn’t make sense. Perhaps he was still sleeping and dreaming.

However, dream or not, he hadn’t had something to drink in a while, and his throat was dry, whether from the lack of speaking or drinking he couldn’t tell.

He forced himself over to the crystal clear water and took off his gloves to dip his hands in the cool wet. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that he shouldn’t just drink out of some miraculous water fountain found in a shady place like this. His thirst decided that he didn’t care, he’d be no use to Richard if he dropped her from exhaustion in some dumb refusal to drink. The first mouthful felt like ice, cold, and burning his throat on the way down. The next one was better.

The water stirred where he touched it, creating small waves. He hadn’t dared to take off his cowl so far, but so far he also hadn’t really seen anyone. With a relieved sigh, he pulled off his mask and ran his fingers through his hair. It was greasy and gross, and his face looked terrible. His reflection in the water showed him a tired man with hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes. He looked at least a decade older than he actually was, but what really caught his attention was the dark shadow above him.

Then nothing.

X

Bruce woke up to harsh light and the sound of a thousand voices screaming at him. When he tried to shield his eyes with his hands, he noticed that he couldn’t lift them far from the ground. Thick, silver chains locked him down to a white and black checkered floor. Groaning, he tried to recall how he had gotten here.

The last thing he could remember in clarity was drinking out of that fountain and then looking at a shadow- no, a person. It had been a masked person. He should have known that it had been a trap, how could he have been so stupid?

Slowly he lifted his head to look at his surroundings. The hall was illuminated by giant chandeliers, casting not a single shadow. To Bruce’s right stood a figure, female he guessed, though the armor they were wearing made it hard to tell. They were clad entirely in black with bronze colored highlights and their head was covered by a strange mask imitating an owl.

This was the person who had attacked him, Bruce was sure.

They stood unnaturally still like a statue, moving not a single muscle, and they didn’t even look at him. Their attention seemed focused solely on their spectators. Those sat high up in rows on red cushions, drinking expensive alcohol, laughing and screeching like they were waiting for the theatre play below to start.

Men and women, all hidden behind white owl masks.

So this was the Court of Owls.

Suddenly, the noise quelled down, and only whispers ran through the room until even they silenced. They all turned their heads into the direction of a man standing up at a podium. He was dressed in a suit whiter than any shirt Bruce had ever owned and, above that he wore a dark ceremonial cloak. If not for that, you wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of the crowd of masked figures. By the way the others reacted, Bruce concluded that he must be the leader, or at least very high up the command chain.

“Today,” the man began to speak, “is the beginning of our rising. For too long have we been leading this city from behind the curtains of passivity, allowing others such as the Bat to make himself at home in the shadows. This will end now. He will be eliminated, this vigilante uprising quelled at its roots, and from it, our Gray Son will rise to shape this city as it was meant to be!”

Thunderous applause followed the man’s words. Every man and every woman joined in the celebration, praising the exclamations like devoted followers might react to the orders of their god.

Bruce tugged at his chains. He didn’t know how to get out of them and he sincerely doubted he would leave this room alive and whole. This cult of the rich and insane sounded very much in favor of killing him for messing with their schemes, whatever those were. Most likely something along the lines of the elimination of the Narrows, Park Row, the Bowery and every other part of the city they didn’t prefer. There had been many attempts in the past to just bulldoze those districts, none of them very effective due to the sheer amount of people living in those dark parts.

“Any last words?”

It took Bruce a few seconds to realize the leader was dressing him. His mouth was dry, he didn’t know whether he’d be able to get out a single word.

“Where is Richard?” Bruce whispered.

“Where the Gray Son is supposed to be. Bat of Gotham, the Court of Owls sentences you to death. Kill him.”

The masked shadow that had attacked him before made their first move. From out of nowhere, or so it seemed, they pulled a thin and black knife with a decorated hilt.

Like a machine, they approached him, a steady grip on their weapon.

He was going to die.

Bruce tore at his chains energetically, trying hopelessly to break free. He couldn’t just go down with a fight. He had clawed his way out of a dirty alley, that couldn’t have been for nothing!

The blade was seconds away from Bruce’s neck when-

“Grandmaster.”

One of the men suddenly spoke up and the Court’s leader motioned for Bruce’s attacker to stop.

Their blade was still at Bruce’s neck. One move and he’d be done for. He’d die down here without ever truly having accomplished anything at all. If he could just lift his hands, do something to defend himself, he could maybe find a way out. Try to find the fountain again and then the marks he had left behind.

“Speak,” the Grandmaster ordered.

“He is young still, and talented. He has much more value to us if he stays alive.”

“We don’t need an usurper like him. We already have the Gray Son, he will be the next great Talon like his great-grandfather before him.”

A murmur hushed through the ranks. The men and women started whispering amongst themselves. Not loud enough to be considered rude or interrupting to the important conversation happening in the front row, but still loud enough to point out that they wanted their opinion known.

“Still,” the first speaker insisted. “Another asset might be helpful when training the Gray Son. He listened to the Bat before. If he sees him fight for us, he will follow him. I would personally oversee their training.”

The mask hid any expression the Grandmaster could have made, and Bruce found himself hoping he wouldn’t die on this floor without anybody knowing. Years ago he had celebrated every birthday with a silent surprised ‘ _look, I’m still here, Mamma_ ’, working earnestly to make it to the next year.

He couldn’t die here, not when he had made it so far already.

“He is a fighter,” the Grandmaster finally said. “You have two months to get me results. If the Gray Son doesn’t improve from this, the Bat is to be removed.”

X

Bruce got stuck into a small cell. They stripped him off his uniform and left him in the tiny space in nothing more than his underwear. It was cold but not as chilly as it should be. Probably a benefit of this place having to house a bunch of rich snobs for their secret murder cult meetings. Room temperature catacombs and cells so they could comfortably watch the executions of whoever pissed them off in their most elegant clothes. Or at least Bruce thought that he was still underground in the catacombs. He had no way of telling how much time had passed since he had been knocked out at the fountain or how far away from it he was. Maybe he was actually in a building topside?

He couldn’t imagine a bunch of those well-off people disappearing beneath Gotham, but he also hadn’t known about a mysterious cult existing in the first place, so maybe Bruce’s information on Gotham wasn’t as dense as he had thought.

The assassin who carried him into the cell hadn’t revealed anything either. In fact, they hadn’t made a sound at all. The man who had insisted on him being kept alive for training hadn’t said a word either. He had accompanied them to the cell, taken one more look at Bruce, unmasked and defenseless against his attackers, then turned around to leave even before the assassin disappeared.

X

Bruce didn’t dare to fall asleep again when he was surrounded by enemies with no idea where exactly he was and how much time had passed since he had disappeared beneath Gotham. He hoped Selina hadn’t come after him. The chances that she would find him and get out here alive were non-existent. Either Bruce would manage to save Richard and himself on his own, or they’d both die here – that was if Richard was still here.

The Court hadn’t said his name, but they had spoken of a gray son, and the leap from _gray son_ to _Grayson_ wasn’t that big.

After a couple hours, or so Bruce guessed, the masked man who had advocated for his prolonged life returned. He was wearing a different expensive suit this time, and his graying dark hair was slicked back. The owl mask hid his face, and if not for the slight tremor in his hands, Bruce wouldn’t have been able to tell him apart from all the other wealthy cultists. Hours ago, he hadn’t been able to pay proper attention to it, but he had taken notice of the shaking. Perhaps the shaking stemmed from a little too much alcohol every day or was caused by shock or an old injury. Bruce had seen all three working in his clinic. Either way, it was most certainly a weakness Bruce carefully cataloged for the future.

“I hope you are well-rested,” the man said.

Bruce frowned and eyes him skeptically. He doubted the man returned here for small talk.

“What do you want from me?”

“Loyalty, strength, and training first and foremost. You will ensure the Gray Son cooperates with us in the future and help raise him to new heights. Now get up, we have work to do. Two months aren’t exactly enough time to achieve the progress that has been asked of me and trust me when I say that I do not want to disappoint the Grandmaster.”

The man pulled something from his suit’s pocket, a small and shiny object. Bruce was only able to tell that it was a key when he moved closer to the cell. The Owl wanted to open the cell, Bruce realized.

“I suggest you play along if you want to see the Gray Son again. You can, of course, kill me right here and now, though murder isn’t really your usual approach, is it? Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Leaving the underground without me will be impossible.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’m many things,” the Owl’s tone was downright patronizing. It made Bruce feel like a helpless child all over again. “Many things, Bat, but I’m not a liar.”

Bruce scoffed.  “Then what do you call hiding behind a mask?”

“Self-preservation. I believe you’re familiar with it. Now, do you want to see Richard again or not?”

Bruce weighed his options if his slim chance of survival could be called one. The man opened the door to his cell and waited for Bruce’s reaction. Slowly he stood up but made no move against the man.

“I knew you’d decided wisely.”

The man walked out of the room, and Bruce followed him without a fight.

X

The pathways of the catacombs were only sparsely illuminated, but that didn’t seem to bother Bruce’s warden at all. It would be so easy to knock him out and hide his body in some dark corner, but that wouldn’t help Bruce, and especially not Richard, either.

After a while, the sound of fighting reached Bruce’s ears. He could hear someone scream; light, pained, and familiar.

“Robin!”

Bruce immediately broke away from the man. He didn’t look back to see whether the Owl cared that he was running off, he had more important things to focus on, such as finding the origin of these cries. He had made it this far, he couldn’t be too late now. He had to reach Robin in time, make sure he was okay.

He took a sharp turn at the next corner, reaching a bare corridor ending in a metal lattice gate, separating the path from an arena. The tiled floor of the arena was bloody. A multitude of throwing knives lay on the ground and in the center of it all stood the assassin who had nearly killed Bruce. Below them, cowering on all fours, was Robin.

For a split second, all Bruce could see were Robin’s injuries, the blood, and the unmoving body, so very similar to his mother’s body bleeding out on the ground.

Then he noticed the rise and fall of Robin’s chest.

He was still alive. Still breathing.

“Get up,” Bruce whispered. “Get up, get up!”

He shook at the gate, but it didn’t budge, not even an inch.

“Leave him alone! Robin, get up and move! You have to get away! Robin!”

Robin turned his head, only so slightly to look at Bruce. His eyes widened. Bruce could see his lips move, then he crashed to the ground, unmoving.

“Robin!”

It didn’t matter what he did, he couldn’t push past the gate no matter how much force he put behind his shoves. He was barely ten meters away from Robin. If he could just move forward, _if he could just reach him-_

“You shouldn’t run off here. You could get lost.”

Bruce turned around and came face to face with the Owl again. He leaned a bit to the right to look past Bruce into the arena, to look at Robin, still lying on the floor.

“We’re late it seems. Training is already over.”

“Training!?” Bruce echoed. “You’re not training him, you’re beating him up! This is torture!”

Anger welled up in Bruce. Hot and scalding, dictating his every action. He rushed forward and the next second his hands were at the man’s collar, pushing him up against the wall.

“Let him go. _Now_.”

The man didn’t react physically.

“And who will take his place then? You?”

Staring into a black void where there should be eyes was deeply unsettling. Bruce couldn’t get a read of the man. Wealthy, flawed, in-control, but so nonchalant about his own life. He sounded almost amused at Bruce’s terror, like all of this was just a game.

Like a child wasn’t bleeding out on the floor just a few steps away from them.

“Someone has to be fighting there tomorrow, and we don’t have too many options.”

He was waiting for a reply, for Bruce to agree to play along with whatever charade he was setting up here.

“Fine,” Bruce hissed. “I’ll do it. But Robin- Richard gets to rest. Somewhere I can see him.”

The Owl let out a dry laugh. “You’re not really in a position to be making demands, Bat. But alright, I did keep you here to help with the little bird’s spirits, and he really isn’t in a condition to train for the next few days. Let’s see if that will change when the Talon’s done with you.”

They opened the gate and let Bruce inside. He ran to Robin’s side and pulled the child into his arms. Quickly he began to check over Robin’s injuries. None of them were fatal, but there were a lot of them. He needed medical attention as soon as possible. When Bruce looked behind himself, the gate was already closed again, locking him inside together with the assassin. The Owl was also nowhere to be seen.

“He needs to get treated,” Bruce told the assassin, but they didn’t seem to care.

Instead, they stared up at the stands, waiting.

“Can you understand me?” Bruce tried again. “Parli italiano? Español? Hànyŭ?”

Still, they didn’t react and Bruce cursed. He didn’t have anything here to fix Robin’s injuries properly, but if nobody else was going to do anything, he had to make do. Wouldn’t be the first time and hopefully also not the last.

The bronze armor they had put Robin in was sturdy enough to work as casts. If he bandaged the arm guards properly, it should hold his arm steadily enough. He’d have to wrap the more heavily bleeding cuts, and with luck, nothing would get infected.

“Are you ready for training, Bat?”

Bruce looked up to the stands where the man was sitting now. So that was where he had disappeared to. No wonder the assassin had been staring up there so intensely.

“Richard needs to get treated,” Bruce said.

The man nodded. “He will after you’re finished. Try not to faint too fast, alright?”

That was the only warning Bruce got before the assassin attacked him.

X

Bruce had thought that he was a capable fighter. Not trained, no martial artist or a professional of any kind, but he’d been able to deal with everything Gotham threw at him until now. The assassin quickly proved that Bruce was everything but skilled. He stumbled over his own feet, trying to avoid the attacks. None of his punches ever hit their intended target, and every attempt to pick up one of the knives was put to an end before he could even touch a blade.

“That’s enough, Talon,” the Owl said. “Finish him.”

 And once again he was thrown into darkness.

X

This time he woke up with a start. Awareness cut into him like a knife and Bruce immediately raised his arms, ready to defend himself and hyperaware of his surroundings. The movement, however, was much too fast for his sore muscles and bruised side. Everything was hurting and Bruce wished he had a couple painkillers on hand to do something against his headache. At least his other wounds had been bandaged, and he wasn’t stuck in his cell anymore. Instead, he found himself in a proper room. Checkered tile floor, white walls, toilet and one big curtain shutting off half of the room. Curious of what laid behind, Bruce got up from the mattress he was sitting on. He winced as he got up, but didn’t let that stop him from moving forward. Carefully he pushed the curtain aside, revealing another bed, an IV stand and Richard’s sleeping form.

Relief washed over Bruce. The Owl had kept his word, Richard was here, and his wounds had been treated. Bruce sat down on the mattress as carefully as he could and ran his fingers through Richard’s hair.

There was hope for them yet.

He held onto that thought even when the Owl returned hours later to take Bruce to the arena again.

X

Richard slept on for the next days. Whether he woke when Bruce was out, he didn’t know. Sometimes, Richard was conscious for a short while, but those moments of wakefulness were accompanied by incoherence. He didn’t seem to recognize Bruce then or even just remember where he was. But at least he wasn’t forced to fight, or train as the Owl called it. Richard was in no shape to do anything exhausting at all, much less endure the harsh beat down that had gotten him in the sickbed in the first place.

Bruce honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand up to the assassin, the Owl’s Talon, until he was put out of commission for a longer period of time as well.

The Talon fought to kill. Every hit was possibly lethal, Bruce was only still alive because the Talon had been ordered to hold back.

“Not yet,” the Owl had said. “We haven’t been able to utilize him yet.”

Bruce honestly didn’t want to know what that would look like, but he doubted he had much choice in that either.

X

Dick woke up to the all too familiar bitter taste of poison on his tongue. Ever since he had been brought here, the taste of anesthesia had accompanied him. He hated how it had become a part of him, as much as the numbness of his limbs. Dick was used to being in full control of his body. His parents had taught him from an early age on how to feel and use his muscles so that someday he’d become an acrobat as great as them. Their craft was a dangerous one, lethal even as the last months had shown him. This disattachment to his body made Dick uncomfortable in his skin. He didn’t know what the masked people did to him when he was unconscious, but he was sure that it was their fault that he was cold all the time and couldn’t feel the wounds he saw when he unwrapped his ever healing injuries.

He hated staring at the bleeding wounds and not feeling anything. It scared him. He was supposed to be hurting and in pain. Sore muscles were something Dick was used to, minor injuries as well. He’d always tried to follow his parents faster than he was supposed to and, as a consequence, had once suffered a sprained ankle and a torn muscle. It had taken ages for those to heal.

Down here, a cut seemed to heal within hours.

Every day he was forced to fight again and again and again, and the battles only ever stopped once he blacked out. The man in the white mask said it was for a magnificent purpose, that he was preparing him for the future and training him to do what he has been born for.

Dick had been born to fly, to amaze and entertain, and maybe to fight crime with Batman, but not for whatever the masked one imagined him doing.

He had never missed home more than now. He wished had had just gone with Batman, with Bruce, immediately when the man had asked him. Then he’d have never been adopted by that stupid family and taken away. Instead, maybe he’d be curled up next to Batman. Dick didn’t even care if Batman lived in the sewers. Everything was better than this.

If he kept his eyes closed a little while longer, Dick reasoned, he could keep on pretending that he was hiding beneath his parents‘ blanket in their trailer, or wrapped up in Batman‘s cape on a stakeout.

Unfortunately, somebody chose right that moment to reach for Dick’s shoulder. His breath hitched and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears.

_Please_ , he begged. _Please don’t make me go again_.

He didn’t dare move, not even a bit, as to avoid alarming whoever was checking up on him this time. Silently, he started to count. One, two, three… Dick kept going, yet the hand on his shoulder didn’t move away, nor did anything else happen.

He risked alerting them should he move. On the other hand, if they wanted something from him they usually just took it. He hadn’t been able to sleep in since he got here, fear and the weird schedule the masked one seemed to be working on prevented it.

Alright, he could do this. He was a Flying Grayson, he was Robin. He was magic, and he was brave and most importantly, he was sneaky. Slowly, only ever moving a few centimeters at once, Dick pulled the blanket off his head. He had to be extra careful because of the tube sticking out of his hand, but he managed to pull off the sheet and peak at the person.

A man was sitting at Dick’s bedside, clad in the same black outfit the masked one had given Dick. He was sleeping in the chair, with his upper body sort of lying on Dick’s mattress. He didn’t look like a Talon. The golden garnishments were missing from the dark uniform and his visible veins weren‘t dark. But he certainly wasn‘t a masked one either. For one, he was missing the mask and his face was one Dick knew.

It was just Batman, resting there like this was exactly the place he was meant to be.

Oh, alright.

Dick sat up and looked around, trying to see if he could spot whatever fluid they had given him this time. They had drugged him before, causing hallucinations. If he could figure out which one it was, maybe he could fight against it next time.

Dick slipped off the bed and tentatively took his first steps. His feet were a little shaky, but not overly so that he had to worry about falling. He checked behind the other curtain, but there was nothing except a second mattress.

Weird.

Beneath his bed, he didn’t find anything either, and that were already all the hiding spots Dick could think off. Frustrated, he sat down on the bed again. He must have made enough ruckus for his hallucinated Batman to stir.

“Robin…?” He muttered and sat up.

Dick chose to ignore him. Nothing good had come out of talking to a fake Batman before.

The fake rubbed his eyes and stretched, then hissed and twitched. Dick was still ignoring him. This wasn’t real, Batman wasn’t here. He was probably somewhere in Gotham beating up criminals, or maybe he was searching for Dick. Dick was reasonably sure that Batman liked him enough to search for him.

“Robin!” The fake exclaimed, sounding pretty shocked. What for Dick didn’t know.

“Go away,” Dick said and crawled beneath the blanket again, pulling the covers above his head.

Perhaps, if he didn’t see the other, he’d disappear faster.

“Robin, you’re awake! Shit- are you alright? Does anything hurt? Ro- Richard, look at me, please. I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t here any faster. I promise everything will be alright again and you can be mad at me all you want later. I promise I’ll take you wherever you want to go after this. I’ll even track down Haly’s again, but please- just- _Richard, please look at me_.”

Dick hated the fake’s words. He spoke just like Batman, except not really. He didn’t growl, and he sounded way too worried to be Batman, but he said just what Dick wanted to hear and it wasn’t fair! Batman wasn’t next to him, he was walking through the streets far away from Dick, leaving him all on his own down here.

“Richard, please,” the fake begged, and Dick had enough.

“Shut up!” He screamed and chose that moment to jump up right at his hallucination.

It was fake. It couldn’t hurt or touch him. Dick had tried it before, he had passed just right through it, and even though it hadn’t gone away then, it had been good to realize that it was really just a dream.

This Batman, however, was apparently solid as Dick crashed right into his chest, leaving the man wheezing.

“What-?” Dick was at a loss for words. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. He was supposed to fall right through Batman onto the ground, hurt himself, and feel like an idiot. Instead, he was leaning against Batman, who was quick in putting an arm around Dick.

“I’ve got you, Richard. Everything’s okay, I’ve got you, I promise.”

Hesitantly Dick raised his hands to poke Batman’s chest to test whether he was really tangible. It was impossible. There was no way, no chance, that Batman could be here, yet his fingers refused to pass through the black fabric the man was wearing and the skin that was beneath it.

Dick looked up into Batman’s face. His eyes were red, like Dick’s in spring because all the pollen made him cry.

“B…?”

Batman smiled in that awful sad way of his like he was always half torn between a smile and a grimace. “Hello, Richard.”

“You’re here,” Dick said, emphasizing every syllable. “I’m not dreaming, you’re really here.”

“Of course, I am.”

And that was all it took for Dick to burst into tears. Ugly sobs escaped him as he threw his hands around Batman.

“You- you’re-“ Dick hiccupped. He couldn’t get out a proper sentence. He pressed as close to Batman as he could, trying to feel the warmth the last weeks had been missing.

And then he kept on crying.

X

Batman kept Dick in his arms, and for the first time in weeks, Dick thought that maybe everything was going to be alright. Batman had managed to find his parents’ killer and track Dick down even here in this darkness. Surely he’d find a way to get both of them out of here as well.

“Do you have a plan?”

Batman hesitated. “Not yet. I need to know more about this place first. Is there anything you can tell me? What are they planning to do?”

Dick shook his head. “The only thing they ever say is ‘Gray Son this’ and ‘Purpose that’. And then they throw me back into- into-“

Dick could feel the tears coming back. He shut his eyes and hid his face in Bruce’s chest. He had to be strong. He shouldn’t start crying again because it would be no help to anyone. Robin wasn’t a child. Robin was Batman’s fearless and brave partner in crime- well, justice actually, and Dick had to fulfill his role.

“I don’t want to go back into the ring,” Dick said, voice wavering despite his best efforts.

Batman’s hands were warm on Dick’s face, wiping away traitorous tears.

“I know, I’ll think of something. I promise we’ll go home soon.”

X

Batman’s idea of ‘coming up with a plan’ left Dick staring in horror from the stands of the arena as Bruce faced the Talon in his stead. The Talon seemed to be even harsher to Batman than she had been to Dick, pushing him until he collapsed and couldn’t get up again.

But Batman didn’t scream, he didn’t even cry, unlike Dick who hadn’t been able to stop himself from begging her to stop with her assault on him. He just took every punch, kick and cut and got up again and again until his legs didn’t hold him anymore.

And all Dick could do was watch from the stands with the masked man who usually fixed up his injuries. He observed the match attentively, tilting his head ever so often in thought or drumming his shaking hands against the railing. The Owl was here every day for Batman’s fights but never moved an inch when Batman got injured.

Dick had to help him. It was Robin’s job to make sure Batman stayed safe. They would go home soon, Batman had promised it. And Robin wouldn’t leave this place without Batman.

“Let me fight,” Robin said.

The Owl looked away from the match to turn to Robin.

“Let me fight together with Batman,” Robin repeated, staring right into the Owl’s black eyes.

Determination filled Robin, let him stand up straight.

“Go,” the Owl said, and Robin immediately rushed into action.

He jumped over the railing of the stands and landed on his feet on the checkered floor of the ring. The Talon acknowledged his presence with nothing more than a slight shift in her stance, adjusting for another opponent attacking her from the left.

Batman tried to protest Robin’s presence, but after the hit to the throat he’d taken, he wouldn’t be able to speak properly for another few hours. Robin could easily ignore the raspy prompt to get back where he came from. Besides, Batman had no right to look so surprised. By now, he should know that Robin didn’t listen to dumb demands.

He took another breath to calm himself, then Robin picked up the nearest throwing knife and ran towards the Talon.

X

“This was beyond stupid,” Bruce ranted. “You could have gotten hurt- Richard, are you even listening to me?”

Dick blew a raspberry. Bruce had been talking for ages, ever since they both woke up again in their room, all bandaged up. He was still sore from the fight, but his wounds weren’t as severe as Dick had thought they’d be. Worse than the pain though, was Bruce’s name dropping. He seemed to put a Richard at every end of a sentence, and it was driving Dick insane.

“I don’t know, Batman, am I?” Dick replied, putting as much emphasis on the name as he could, dragging out the vowel for exaggeration.

Bruce made a face. “Don’t do that. This is serious.”

“Well, yes. But you don’t see me going all fancy with names, do you? No need to tag a Richard into every sentence.”

“But it’s your name.”

“Dick.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, the perfect picture of someone daring you to repeat what you just said. Dick just grinned.

“Nobody’s ever called me Richard. It’s always been Dick.”

Dick deciphered from Bruce’s look that the man was not buying it. He guessed that it was fair. Dick had been born in Europe, and many of the kids he’d been around then hadn’t spoken English. By the time Dick had learned what his nickname also meant, the name already stuck. He didn’t mind, though. To him, the nickname was connected to precious memories.

“Really, I promise. I wouldn’t joke about names. Names are important, you have to cherish them.”

Bruce’s smile was torn somewhere between resignation and amusement.

“Alright then, Dick. If you want to be called that, I’ll call you that.”

“Great!”

X

Bruce was far from pleased when Dick continued joining him in the fight against the Talon, but what choice did Dick have? Sit aside and watch as Bruce suffered? That simply wasn’t a viable option for him.

Besides, it wasn’t like they ended up unconscious on the ground every time. Slowly but steadily they improved and eventually their fights expanded into them pushing the Talon back instead of merely trying to block her hits. They still hadn’t found a way out, but Dick hoped that once their tag-teaming would be strong enough to defeat the Talon, perhaps they could give her the slip when she escorted them back to their rooms.

She never said a word, was even more silent than Bruce most of the time and didn’t show any reaction to anything whatsoever. The only hint that there wasn’t some kind of mechanical robot hiding behind the black mask – and yes, Dick had considered it despite Bruce’s incredulous looks – was the fact that she seemed to be softer on Dick. She didn’t hit him as hard or targeted him as often as Bruce.

Dick wondered who she was. He wanted to know, and if she didn’t tell him, Dick would simply have to ask.

“What’s your name?” Dick asked the Talon a couple weeks into their stay down here.

There was of course always the possibility that she was mute and unable to speak, or simply refused to. The only thing Dick ever saw her do was fight against them for the masked ones. There wasn’t much use for talking then, was there?

The Talon stared at him, all expressions hidden away behind her mask. Dick wondered what face she was making.

“I’m Dick. You may call me Robin,” he said. “And his name is Bruce, but don’t call him that, he’ll get cranky. He listens to Batman.”

At first, the Talon didn’t respond, as if unsure of what he wanted from her. Then she leaned towards him and in one swift movement, Bruce pushed Dick behind him, although that didn’t seem to deter the Talon. Instead, her hand now rested on Bruce’s face and she slowly began to trace something on Batman’s exposed skin.

_M A R Y._

Dick let out a breath he didn’t notice holding. He stepped out from behind Bruce’s shadow and held out his hand. “Hello, Mary. It’s nice to meet you.”

X

Nothing seemed to change after learning the Talon’s, Mary’s, name. They still fought, she still didn’t say a word. But the walks back to their room were less tense. It felt a little less like a warden leading them back to their cell and more like a friend accompanying them. Maybe she could come with them when they escaped. Certainly, nobody lived down here out of their own free will.

The Owl overseeing them definitely didn’t, but perhaps he should. Dick was good at reading people, he had to be if he were to grow up to become a great performer, and Dick could tell that the Owl was getting restless. If even Dick and Bruce, who was something of a chronic terrible sleeper as Dick had learned, could get some shut-eye in this place, then a rich guy like the Owl should as well.

“You think he’s angry his latest shipment of gold sprinkled chocolate didn’t come?” Dick tried to joke.

“Unlikely,” Bruce replied. “He’s been getting more nervous when watching us with every session-“

Bruce stopped talking and frowned.

“Everything alright, B?”

“Yes, yes, it’s just…” Bruce abruptly stood up from their mattress, leaving Dick to fall over.

“Hey!” He protested, but Bruce didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, he crossed the room to walk over to the door.

Right next to it they had started marking off the days. Each morning they made a new mark to keep track of the schedule.

Fifty-nine little scratches decorated the wall, almost two months. By Dick’s estimation, it would be Christmas soon.

“Two months,” Bruce said. “It’s been almost two months – time’s up.”

“What time?”

Bruce didn’t reply right away but started pacing instead. Dick hated it when he did that. Bruce got so dark and broody then, and that never helped anybody.

“Come on, B. What are you talking about?”

Bruce stopped and sighed.

“When I arrived here, the Grandmaster, the leader of the Court, wanted to kill me immediately. It was the Owl who asked him to leave me alive a little longer.”

“What for?”

“You, your training to be more precise. The Grandmaster gave the Owl two months to prove it would be worth it, I assume. And if our calendar is correct, tomorrow we’ve reached the end of those two months.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Bruce shook his head. “No.”

“So what do we do now? What if they kill you? They can’t do that, I don’t want to be left behind. B, we have to get out of here. They- we-“

Dick closed his eyes to count to ten, the next moment Bruce was already at his side. “We can’t let them take you away.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

X

They spend the rest of the night talking in hushed whispers about possible escape opportunities. Perhaps they should run as soon as someone opened the door of the room? They knew which way led to the arena, so running the opposite direction seemed to be an excellent first step. But then there was the maze to consider and the fact that neither of them knew how to navigate it. If they could make it to one of Bruce’s marks, they might be able to find their way back. Otherwise, they’d be utterly lost and most likely captured within minutes.

When morning finally came, and the door opened, they did not act.

Dick tried to jump up, but Bruce held him back. After Dick had fallen asleep last night, exhaustion finally catching up to him, Bruce had stayed up and calculated.

He had always been good at math. Right next to reading, that was the subject he had excelled at when he had still attended school. And afterward, survival was nothing more than calculating chances.

How much food did he need, how many clothes, how long would it take him to race from the Bowery to East End, how likely were they to catch his thievery, how many patients had he treated, how much money did he have, how much of himself did he have to sell?

The Court had taken Bruce because they had needed him as a pawn for Dick’s training. Dick, on the other hand, they wanted. Such a slim chance of escape wasn’t worth risking Dick’s life.

_Charity is a life savior, Tesoro_.

Therefore Bruce told Dick to stay silent, listen to their orders, and to endure just until the path to the outside was a little clearer.

X

The arena was a horrifying familiar place. It was scrubbed clean after every battle, but Bruce imagined seeing the blood stains he knew had been there every time either way. The belts holding his knives suddenly seemed much too tight.

Just like the first time Bruce had been here, the hall was full with the masked wealthy, men and women cackling with their fake voices. The Owl was, once again, standing next to the Grandmaster, but Bruce didn’t need to see his face to understand how nervous he was. This was a test for him just as much as it was one for them. Bruce didn’t think the Court would execute their own members, but he was fairly sure that disappointing the Grandmaster was something to avoid.

“My dear Brothers and Sisters,” the Grandmaster began to speak. “We’re here to witness today what the Gray Son can do. Let’s see if the Bat was if any use. Talon, fight them.”

Bruce immediately fell into the stance that had been drilled into him in the past months. Mary wouldn’t give them a split second to prepare for her assault, she never did. Dick was at Bruce’s side, slightly behind him to reach for Mary in the moments she was trying to get away from Bruce.

Usually, they started with melee and built their way up to the knives once Mary decided to use them. This time, however, she immediately began with throwing a knife. Bruce barely managed to dodge and retaliate in kind. Mary was unbothered by it and jumped up, ready to kick Bruce.

Bruce knew that move. She had done it almost every training session, and Dick and him had long since learned how to dodge it. Bruce crouched down, getting out of Mary’s path while Dick used Bruce’s shoulders to propel himself upwards. His foot connected with Mary’s shoulder and pushed her to the ground. She fell into a roll and immediately assaulted them again, using knives once more.

Bruce frowned. She always managed to keep them on their toes the entire time, pulling new techniques out of nowhere every day. All of the attacks she threw of them now they already knew. There was something off about this battle.

Mary threw another knife, yet again, and Bruce blocked once more, completely missing the way she rushed at him to continue her attack physically. Her fist hit his abdomen and Bruce was thrown to the ground, his left knee connecting with the floor with an unpleasant cracking sound. In one graceful turn, Mary now faced Dick.

Dick mostly avoided attacking Mary. He relied on Bruce to create an opening for him to operate within. He jumped out of Mary’s way at the last moment and picked one of his knives to make Mary lose her balance.

Unfortunately, that move didn’t work out at all as Mary avoided the blade like a child’s play and raised her arm instead to strike Dick.

Dick wouldn’t be able to block that punch, Bruce realized. In the split-second it took him to realize that, he was already halfway between Dick and Mary. The force of the jump knocked Dick down, Bruce’s body towering above him like a shield. Mary didn’t hesitate and adjusted her stance to accommodate for a second target.

“I’ve seen enough,” the Grandmaster’s voice boomed through the arena.

Mary’s claws were just an inch away from Bruce’s neck, aiming straight for the kill, similarly to the first time Bruce had been fighting on the checkered floor. At the Grandmaster’s order, she fell back into an upright stance, no longer looming over Bruce. Her hands she kept behind her back, and she looked up to the Grandmaster like a picture perfect obedient doll. With a hiss, Bruce pulled himself up as well while Dick still lingered in his shadow.

“The Gray Son has improved with leaps and bounds. You have done well.”

It wasn’t clear who exactly he was talking to, the Owl who stood up straighter at these words, Mary who didn’t move at all, or Dick who didn’t dare to let go of Bruce’s shirt.

“The Bat has aided in the Gray Son’s growth well. Yet, against the Talon, he still lacks. The effort of keeping him doesn’t make up for what he costs us.”

At these words, the Owl startled. “Sir, you can’t be serious. You must see how much stronger he has grown while he was in my care.”

“Of course, I can see that. But look at his eyes. Can’t you tell that he will only grow stronger to rebel against us? He is an unnecessary risk to our organization.”

“But-“

“Silence, doctor. You have done your part, now destiny will move forward. The Gray Son will be further trained, the Bat won’t. Talon, kill him.”

Mary pulled a knife from her back. Bruce didn’t think their audience could see it from this angle, she did so incredibly slowly.

Behind himself, Bruce could hear Dick whimper.

There would be no escaping this. Bruce wasn’t enough of a fool to think he could defeat Mary. His leg was injured, he’d never be fast enough to move away from Mary without endangering Dick. Never mind, that he’d only had one knife left to himself and Mary would never give him the chance to pick another one up when she was told to execute him.

It wasn’t her fault, Bruce told himself as he put his right hand on Dick’s head, then moved it to cover his eyes. Mary had been doing this for decades, the Owl had let that particular piece of information slip a while ago. That she had managed to still tell them her name had been a miracle.

Bruce breathed in.

He hoped Dick could get away and find his way to Selina. She’d make sure that they would disappear somewhere the Court couldn’t find them.

And out again.

Mary threw her knife, fast and precise and it impaled its target right in the forehead, cracking his white mask.

Bruce stared in shock at the collapsing form of the Grandmaster. Hysteric screams erupted all around them as Mary threw herself into the action. First, the Court members right next to the Grandmaster died, then the rest. Blood sprayed as she executed the members of the Court one by one as they tried to escape. Knives went flying everywhere and Bruce couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Batman?”

Dick had pried away Bruce’s hand and was pointing at the gate that was usually blocking off their way from the arena. Right now, however, it was open and the Owl was standing there, waving at them.

The Owl was a tall man, but he wasn’t a Talon. Even injured, they’d be able to take him.

“Let’s go,” Batman ordered and marched in the Owls direction, Robin following him quickly.

He tried to ignore the screaming and the harsh outcry whenever he used his injured leg.  When they reached the Owl, Batman was ready to fight him off.

“Take the first turn right,” the Owl said. His suit was surprisingly clean considering the massacre behind them. “Then run straight and turn into the third junction left. The second junction left. Fourth junction right. At the end of the path, you’ll see a door, it’ll lead down to the cave system near Wayne Manor. From there, follow the lights to the sewers. Go.”

“Why should we trust you?”

“As I told you before, I’m not a liar. I have nothing to gain from leaving you here.”

Batman thought that the Owl had plenty to gain from leaving them here, but behind them screamed the masses, so what choice did they have? He doubted that a trap would be awaiting them at the end when everybody, but the Owl was so concerned with escaping Mary’s wrath.

“Third junction left-“ the Owl began to say again, but Bruce interrupted him with a harsh “I remember.”

He shared a glance with Robin, and off they went.

X

Robin ran in front of Batman, always checking if somebody was trying to ambush them when they took a turn. That was something from before, something Batman had taught Robin.

Don’t just open doors, you don’t know who’s standing behind them. Look out for everyone, just because they seem to be weaker, doesn’t mean they actually are.

To their surprise, they didn’t encounter a single soul on their way through the maze. It put Batman on edge. All of this screamed of a trap. Who was to say that the people Mary had killed weren’t actors and the path they were taking wasn’t leading them down even deeper into the abyss?

The blood loss was making him dizzy. He wasn’t alert enough for this kind of endeavor, but it wasn’t like they had much choice in the matter.

“Fourth junction right,” Robin muttered. “This is it, right?”

He turned to look at Batman and Bruce knew that this was the last chance. Robin was tired, that much could be deduced from the bags beneath his eyes. Above even that though, the bone-crushing exhaustion and hope Batman saw in his eyes told him that Dick wouldn’t be able to continue much longer if this wasn’t the end to the past months.

With every step they took in the corridor, Bruce could feel the bile rising in his throat. He hadn’t prayed for anything at all in years, not since flimsy words hadn’t done anything to help him. But this time, just this once, he begged that freedom would lie behind the door they were approaching.

“Ready?” Bruce asked.

“Ready,” Dick replied and both of them started to push at the door. Surprisingly, it opened rather easily. The door Bruce had used to enter the maze had been much more difficult to force open. It had creaked and protested. Compared to that, this one was as silent as a cat.

The first thing Bruce registered when the door was open, was the darkness. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to it, but sure enough, there was no polished marble on the walls in front of him. Instead, they found themselves standing in the caves the Owl had told them about.

“There are the lights.”

Dick was pointing at one wall. A light chain was attached to it, with one light bulb every few meters, but Bruce didn’t allow himself to relax yet. They still weren’t out of danger, they still weren’t outside. Silently, Dick and he marched on, but Dick obviously grew more anticipated with every second that passed.

Soon after, the caves seemed to become lighter, and the sweet sound of harbors reached Bruce’s ears. Ships, and seagulls and the hum of a living city echoed through the caves. Dick couldn’t be stopped anymore. With whatever energy he had left in him, he rushed forwards towards the presumed exit of the caves. Bruce found himself speeding up as well, trying to keep up with Dick.

They were going to make it, they weren’t going to die in the light.

Wind hit Bruce’s face.

Gotham lay in front of him, tall, dark and familiar. The only thing separating them from the main city was the river, but to their right, Bruce could see the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge, one of the three bridges connecting Gotham to the mainland.

_They had survived._

Bruce slowly sunk to his knees. The gravel that made up the beach scrunched under his weight. Dick was standing by his side, half leaning on Bruce, really, staring up into the night sky with awe.

They were finally home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the [map of Gotham](http://pressganger.blogspot.com/2015/01/gotham-city-campaign-map-for-batman.html) I'm working with by the way. Just ignore the tiny Blüdhaven there.  
> This chapter was a bitch to write. Honestly, I might have actually cried. Anyway, now we got a trained Dick and Bruce who actually know how to fight thanks to the Court! And the Court has been reduced to a smaller problem due to Mary! Those of you who don’t know her, she’s part of the Birds of Prey in the New 52! She was born in the 1930/40s and was part of Haly’s for a while before becoming a Talon and later on joins the Birds of Prey. I choose her because I didn’t want to make an OC.  
> Also, nothing like torture and fighting to make a child touch starved, right? By the way, shout out to Tom King for creating a more and more terrible Batman. I wrote the end of this chapter in one go, driven by spite after seeing the latest update (no, I didn't even read it. I had better things to do lmao). So thanks for absolutely nothing but giving me motivation.  
> Also. Uh. Jason probably won't make an appearance until chapter 5. Sorry about that.  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I‘d love to hear what you think!


End file.
